

HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
by J.K.Rowling




Chapter One

THE WORST BIRTHDAY

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over
breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley
had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud,
hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you
can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around
outside. If I could just let her out at night -"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg
dangling from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if
that owl's let out."

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a
long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

1



"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt
Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must
build you up while we've got the chance .... I don't like
the sound of that school food ......

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at
Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough,
don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side
of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family
was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a
crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a
small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley
jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant `please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean -"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit
over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE `M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But I -"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon,
pounding the table with his fist.

"I just -"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR
ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt,
who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Harry, "all right. . . "

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded
rhinoceros and watching Harry closely out of the corners of
his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays,
Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go
off at any moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy.
As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible
to be.

Harry Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first
year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if
the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for the holidays,
it was nothing to how Harry felt.

He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant
stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret
passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not
Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating
banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed
in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in
his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and,
especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the
wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and
fourteen players on broomsticks).

All Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and
top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been
locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the
instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if
Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he
hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if
Harry went back to school without any of his homework done?
The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of
magical blood in their veins),

and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the
family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even
padlocked Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her
from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle
Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black
mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was
blond, pink, and porky. Harry, on the other hand, was small
and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair
that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his
forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual,
even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's
very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on the
Dursleys' doorstep eleven years before.

At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a
curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord
Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared
to speak. Harry's parents had died in Voldemort's attack,
but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow -
nobody understood why Voldemort's powers had been destroyed
the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and
her husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never
understanding why he kept making odd things happen without
meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got
his scar in the car crash that had killed his parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry,

and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his
place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous
... but now the school year was over, and he was back with
the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a
dog that had rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to
be Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't
been high; they'd never given him a real present, let alone
a cake - but to ignore it completely ...

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly
and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important
day."

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my
career, " said Uncle Vernon.

	Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought
bitterly, Un cle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner
party. He'd been talk ing of nothing else for two weeks.
Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and
Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle
Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time,"
said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight
o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to
welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul,
simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs.
Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on
Harry. "And you?"

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm
not there," said Harry tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into
the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them -drinks.
At eight- fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?"
said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not
there," said Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good
compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason.... Do
tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason ......

"Perfect. . . Dudley?"

"How about -'We had to write an essay about our hero at
school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."'

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt
Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry
ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing.

"And you, boy?"

Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not
there," he said.

"Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Ma
sons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay
that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to
the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject
around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed
and sealed before the news at ten. be shopping for a
vacation home in Majorca this time to morrow. Harry couldn't
feel too excited about this. He didn't think the Dursleys
would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet
Drive. "Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner
jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry.
"You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."
Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny
day. He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench,
and sang under his breath: "Happy birthday to me ... happy
birthday to me. . . No cards, no presents, and he would be
spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed
miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More
than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing
Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and
Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing
him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer,
even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come
and stay. Countless times, Harry had been on the point of
unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and
Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk.
Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of
school. Harry hadn't told the

Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he
might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from
locking him in the cupboard under the stairs with his wand
and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Harry
had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and
watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat
legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and
Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical
world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and
now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday.

What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From
any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his
archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been
a dream ....

Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the
very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none
other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin
of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still
cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped
through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had
been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept
waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where
Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad
eyes

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had
been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge
was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among
the leaves.

Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated
across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where
they had been.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to
him.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days
of the week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you
haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that
freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school,"
said Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his
fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

	" I , m trying to decide what would be the best spell to
set it on fire," said Harry.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat
face.

"You c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he
said he'll chuck you out of the house - and you haven't got
anywhere else to go - you haven't got any friends to take
you -"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus
squiggly wiggly -"

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he
dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know
what!"

Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley
nor

the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't
really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a
heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she
gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn't eat again
until he'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream,
Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn,
trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and
repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning
the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn't have risen to
Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had
been thinking himself... maybe he didn't have any friends at
Hogwarts ....

Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought
savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back
aching, sweat running down his face.

It was half past seven ,in the evening when at last,
exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling him.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen.
On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound
of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork
was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt
Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of
cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a
salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper.
The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his
plate. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a
glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner
jack ets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when
the door bell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared
at the foot of the stairs. "Remember, boy - one sound -"
Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe slipped inside,
closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed. The
trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

Chapter Two

DOBBY'S WARNING

arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The
little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and
bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Harry knew
instantly that this was what had been watching him out of
the garden hedge that morning.

As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley's voice
from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the
end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed
that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with
rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er - hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice
Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has
Dobby wanted to meet you, sir ... Such an honor it is . . .
."



"Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and
sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep
in her large cage. He wanted to ask, "What are you?" but
thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, "Who
are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the
creature.

"Oh - really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or
anything, but - this isn't a great time for me to have a
house-elf in my bedroom."

Aunt Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living
room. The elf hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly,
"but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to
tell you, sir ... it is difficult, sir ... Dobby wonders
where to begin . . . ."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

To his horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears.

"S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never ... never ever. . . "

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or
anything -"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked
to sit down by a wizard - like an equal-"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same
time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat
hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At
last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great
eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying
to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and
started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting,
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and
pulling Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a
particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly
against the bars of her cage.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had
gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his
family, sir . . . ."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir... DOBBY'S is a
houseelf - bound to serve one house and one family forever .
.....

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir, no ... Dobby will have to punish himself most
grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to
shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew,
sir _"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven
door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish
himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it,
sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments
......

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will
never set Dobby free ... Dobby will serve the family until
he dies, sir . . . ."

Harry stared.

"And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four
weeks,"

he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't
anyone help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby
dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If
the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here -"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby ... Dobby has heard
of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never
knew . .....

Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said,
"Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of
rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that's
Hermione, she -"

But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was
painful.

"I-Tarry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby
reverently, his orb- like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks
not of his triumph over He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah,
speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry" said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't
like it. My friend Ron -"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

'Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met
the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago ... that
Harry Potter escaped Yet again. "

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

,Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the
grubby

pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and
bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has
come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does
have to shut his ears in the oven door later... Harry Potter
must notgo back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and
forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle
Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back - term
starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going.
You don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I
belong in your world - at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his
ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He
is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back
to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible
things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over.
"Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not
put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting
them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head
frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop
him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you
warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang
on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- - sorry - with
You-Know-Who, has it?

You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's
head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not -not He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir ='

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to
give Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of
making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I
mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who
Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has
ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's
powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height
of his strength. But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an
urgent whisper - "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't ...
powers no decent wizard. . ."

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed,
seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around
the head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry,
heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the
hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on
again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in,
shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as
the door handle turned.

"What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon
through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's.
"You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer
joke .... One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been
born, boy!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" he said. "See why I've got to go
back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got -well, I
think I've got friends. "

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby
slyly.

"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry,
frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing
to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for
the best - "

"Have you been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly
out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes
from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry
could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl,
and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the
Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry
Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry
Potter might not want to go back to school, sir . .....

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but
Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his
word

that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a
danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf
sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom
door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying
not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing
catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From
the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell
Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers,
Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear. . . "

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach
disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of
cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling.
On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please ... they'll kill me ......

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"

"Dobby ... please ...

"Say it, sir -"

"I can't -"

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash.
Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish
shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon

burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock,
covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunias pudding.

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to
gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very
disturbed meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs
He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room,
promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his
life when the Ma sons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt
Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry,
still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal 
if it hadn't been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner
mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room
window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped
out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from
the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just
long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally
afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether
this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support,
as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny
eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl
had delivered. "Go on - read it!"

Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at
your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past
nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform
spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part
may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the
Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph
C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity
that risks notice by members of the non-magical community
(Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the
International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside
school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes.
"For got to mention it .... Slipped your mind, I daresay
.....

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his
teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . ... I'm
locking you up .... You're never going back to that school
... never ... and if you try and magic yourself out -
they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning,



he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself
fitted a cat- flap in the bedroom door, so that small
amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day.
They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening.
Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of
relenting, and Harry couldn't see any way out of his
situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind
the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going
to happen to him.

What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if
Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet
Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys
knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, he had
lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from
horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were
going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias hand appeared,
pushing a bowl of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose
insides were aching with hunger, jumped off his bed and
seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but he drank half of it
in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and
tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into
her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a
look of deep disgust.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've
got," said Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap
and lay back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he
had been before the soup.

Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, what
would happen if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone
be sent to see why he hadn't come back? Would they be able
to make the Dursleys let him go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind
spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell
into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading
UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through
the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of
straw. He saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out,
asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry Potter is safe
there, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and
Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his
sore head. "Leave me alone ... cut it out ... I'm trying to
sleep . . . ."

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars
on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at
him: a freckle- faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.

H-H A P T E RR T 11-H RR E E

THE BURROW

Ron.l" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it
up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you -
What the -?"

Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was
seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an
old turquoise car, which was parked in midair Grinning at
Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder
twin brothers.

"All right, Harry?" asked George.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been
answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve
times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official
warning for using magic in front of Muggles -"

"It wasn't me - and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not
supposed to do spells outside school -"



"You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing
this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in
front of those Muggles you live with -"

"I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain
now look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys
have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously
I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'Il think
that's the second spell I've done in three days, so -"

"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home
with us."

"But you can't magic me out either -"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the
front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a
rope to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied
the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed
to have realized how important this was and kept still and
silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with
a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the
window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back
to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the
ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry
listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the
Dursleys' bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred
reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick -"

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get
out of this room -"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat.
"Out of the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into
Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as
George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started
to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this
sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're
skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from
your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry
whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark
landing.

Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and
passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help
Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard
Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the
trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed
back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George
pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid
through the window.

Uncle Vernon coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the
car. "One good push -"

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and
it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden
loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the
thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

"I've forgotten Hedwig!"

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked
on - he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and
passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest
of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door
and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the
doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and
dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard
as they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S
GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid
out of Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd
slammed the door shut

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot
suddenly toward the moon.

Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the

window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at
the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt
Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of
Harry's window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in
his seat, grinning from ear to ear.

"Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She
hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig
soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them
like a ghost.

"So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently.
"What's been happening?"

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given
Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a
long, shocked silence when he had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell
you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every
time he got close to letting something slip, he started
banging his head against the wall."

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got
powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it
without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was
sent to stop you com

ing back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you
think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius
Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.

Y.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a
big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning
around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying
he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he
was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle."

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before,
and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley
Dursley look

	like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy. 	"I don't know
whether the Malfoys own a house-elf 	said 	Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and
they'll be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the
ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old
ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden.
House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places
like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house . . . ."

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy
usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling
in wizard gold; he

could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house.
Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to
Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy
would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was
getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my
letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first

-"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd
collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes -"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,"
said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he
needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George,
frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and
spending a load of time shut up in his room .... I mean,
there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge
.... You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing
at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering
wheel.

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry,
guessing the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll
be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we
flew it."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The
Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The what?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made,
you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or
house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set
was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it,
took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It
was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over
the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the
sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic -
it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the
office -and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of
stuff to cover it up -"

"But your dad - this car -"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with
Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart,
puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he
raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It
drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through
the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes .... Just as
well, it's getting light . . . ."

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the
east.

Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork
of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George.
"Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant
red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the
ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a
small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's
house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen,
but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was
several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it
were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it
probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of
the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the
entrance read, THE BuRRow. Around the front door lay a
jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several
fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's wonderful," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet
Drive.

They got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and
wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come
bounding downstairs going, `Mum, look who turned up in the
night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one
need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the
top

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the
house. The other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering
chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was
remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on
her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was
wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the
pocket.

"So, "she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was
a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley
in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was,
but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Cargone - could have crashed - out of
my

mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've
lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had
trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!"
yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You
could have died, you could have been seen, you could have
lost your father his job -"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted
herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come
in and have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a
nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed
her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a

scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry
sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had
never been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no
numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like
Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're
late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece,
books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in
Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless
Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the
sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour,
with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a
little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she
threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she
muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of,"
and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight
or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been
worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd
come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron
by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs
to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway across the
country - anyone could have seen you -"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink,
which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the
background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs.
Weasley snapped.

"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly
softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and
buttering it for him.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small,
redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the
kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister.
She's been talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said
with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his
face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was
said until all four plates were clean, which took a
surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and
fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and -"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault
you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the
garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again
-"

"Oh, Mum -"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can
go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask
them to fly that wretched car -"

But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help
Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming -"

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said
Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on
the subject -"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the
mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -"

Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written
across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy
Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big
photograph on the front of a very good- IOI)king wizard with
wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the
wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who
Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily
up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household
pests, all right, it's a wonderful book . . . ."

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her
cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better
than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide
you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out
to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with
Harry behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's
eyes, exactlY what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't
have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass
needed cutting but there were gnarled trees all around the
walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every
flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron

they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said
Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat
little Santa Clauses with fishing rods . . . ."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush
shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he
said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and
leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly
like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out
at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the
ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome
above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in
great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on
Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them - you've just
got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way
back to the gnomeholes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into
the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that
stump."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes.
He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the
hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp
teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it
off - until

"Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet ......

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or
six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's
going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd
have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away
in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes
disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field.
"They love it here .... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks
they're funny . . . ."

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses
off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but
the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's.
He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and
travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they
all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old
Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my
back turned ......

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting
kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty
stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken
away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but
that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness
......

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said
George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key
that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it
when they need it .... Of course, it's very hard to convict
anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps
shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless
them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if
it's staring them in the face .... But the things our lot
have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe -"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a
sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at
his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing.
"Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his
wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see
how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it
fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite
within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would
have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth ....
There's a loophole in the law, you'll find .... As long as
he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car
could fly wouldn't -"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you
wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could
carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your
shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning
in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?"

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you,
Ron's told us so much about -"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last
night."

shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that,
eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all
right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs.
Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very
wrong indeed ......

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs.
Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my
bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway
to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up

through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar.
Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes
staring at him before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her
to be this shy. She never shuts up normally -"

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with
peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S
ROOM.

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping
ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace:
Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade
of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then
Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the
shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and
wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying
broomsticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange
bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and
a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner,
next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The
Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand
was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the
windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was
snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on
the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field
far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one
back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then he turned to look at
Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though
waiting for his opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room
you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul
in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning
...... But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best
house I've ever been in." Ron's ears went pink. .

C H4 A P T E R		V O U R

AT F L 0 V RR 11 $ H AND BLOTTS

ife at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on
Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and
ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and
unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in
the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted,
"Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled
and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too
quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom
were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most
unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking
mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody
there seemed to like him.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to
force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley
liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so that
he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles,
asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal
service worked.


"Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through
using a telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles
have found of getting along without magic."

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week
after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to
breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already
sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry,
Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor
with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking
things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under
the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face
glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't noticed
this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered
him.

"Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and
Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in
green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry -
doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too,"
he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their
pajamas.

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their
letters. Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as
usual from King's Cross station on September first. There
was also a list of the new books he'd need for the coming
year.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2

by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart Gadding with
Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy
Lockhart

4 ",3

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart Voyages with
Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart Wanderings with Werewolves by
Gilderoy Lockhart Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he
said. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be
a fan - bet it's a witch."

At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly
busied himself with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look
at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive
......

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked
worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's
things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked
Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and
put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw
this except Harry, because just then Ron's elder brother
Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts
prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

"Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again
almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting,
gray feather duster - at least, that was what Harry thought
it was, until he saw that it was breathing.

* 44

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and
extracting a letter from under its wing. "Finally - he's got
Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to
try and rescue you from the Dursleys."

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and
tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off
again so Ron lay him on the draining board instead,
muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped open Hermione's letter
and read it out loud:

"`Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,

	"`I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay
and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron,
because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I've been
really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please
let me know at once, but perhaps it would be bet ter if you
used a different owl because I think another delivery might
finish your one off.

"'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she
be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on vacation! - 'and we're
going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why
don't we meet in Diago n Alley?

"`Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from
Hermione. "'

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your
things then, too," said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the
table. "What're you all up to today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill
to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by
trees that blocked it from view of the village below,
meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as
they didn't fly too high.

* 4$

They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have
been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over
the village; instead they threw apples for one another to
catch. They took turns riding Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand,
which was easily the best broom; Ron's old Shooting Star was
often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later they were marching up the hill,
broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he
wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had
only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his
room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's
not himself. His exam results came the day before you did;
twelve O.WL.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Georgeexplained, seeing Harry's puzzled look. "Bill got twelve,
too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in
the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next
brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never
met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania
studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizard's
bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school
stuff this year," said George after a while. "Five sets of
Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and
everything ......

Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an
underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune
that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the
wizarding world that he had money; you couldn't use
Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts

46

in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank
account to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of
anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile
of gold.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday.
After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they
pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off
the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy
some more today... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry
dear!"

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly.
"Sorry, Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon
Alley to buy your school things last year?"

"I went on the Underground -"

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators?
How exactly -"

"Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot
quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it
before -"

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us
first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot,
stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the
flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher
than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon
Alley!" and vanished.

* 41

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as
George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to
get out at the right grate ......

"The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared
and whipped George out of sight, too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose
from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley,
helping himself to Floo powder, too.

"But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his
aunt and uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would
think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney,
don't worry about that -"

"Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs.
Weasley. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're
going

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the
wrong fireplace -"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see
Fred and George."

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of
Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a
deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and
stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened
his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

48

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He
seemed to be spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears
was deafening -he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl
of green flames made him feel sick - something hard knocked
his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and
spinning - now it felt as though cold hands were slapping
his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred
stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms
beyond - his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him - he
closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge
of his glasses snap.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his
feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was
-,cite alone, but where he was, he had no idea. All he could
tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what
looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but nothing
in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a
bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye.
Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment
of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked
instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark,
narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window
was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still
stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way
swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got
halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of
the glass - and one of them was the

49

very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost,
covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black
cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors
closed, leaving a small crack to peer through. Seconds
later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had
the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes.
Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on
display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to
his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought
you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father,
drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said
Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a
Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from
Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even
that good, it's just because he's famous ... famous for
having a stupid scar on his forehead . . . ."

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with
his scar and his broomstick -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said
Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would
remind you that it is not - prudent - to appear less than
fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him
as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear - ah, Mr.
Borgin."

50

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing
his greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr.
Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and
young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may I be of
assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very
reasonably priced -"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr.
Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting
more raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment
from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to
read. "I have a few - ah - items at home that might
embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call ......

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked
down the list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands
a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more
meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection
Act - no doubt that flea- bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur
Weasley is behind it

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it
appear -"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me
see. . ."

"Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the
withered hand on its cushion.

51

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr.
Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle
and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of
thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a
plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin
said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant -"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more
coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for -"

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have
favorites, that Hermione Granger -"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no
wizard family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco
looking both abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily
voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere -"

"Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep
bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr.
Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I
have important business elsewhere today -"

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco
drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the
objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of
hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a
magnificent necklace of opals, Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed
- Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.


Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him.
He walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the handle

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor
tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily
manner.

"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are
true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your
manor ......

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room.
Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then,
quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the
glass cases, and out of the shop door.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared
around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to
be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The
one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the
largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken
heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with
gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were
watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each
other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his
glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to
find a way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling
poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This
didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He
supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his
mouthful of ashes



back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered
what to do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making
him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what
looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at
him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails
cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive
form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding
toward them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great
bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost - Floo powder
-"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him
away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her
hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the
twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a
familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance -
Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon
Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Harry
so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon
dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn
Alley, I dunno dodgy place, Harry - don' want no one ter see
yeh down there -"

"I realized that," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to
brush him off again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you
doing down there, anyway?"

* 54

"I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled
Hagrid. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer
own?"

"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry
explained. "I've got to go and find them . . . ."

They set off together down the street.

"How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry
jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every
stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all
about Dobby and the Dursleys.

"Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known -"

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top
of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to
meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's
wonderful to see you two again - Are you coming into
Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded
street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one

	grate too far . 	He mopped his glistening bald patch.
"Molly's

frantic - she's coming now -"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.

"Excellent." said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

*55*

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid. Mrs.
Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swing ing
wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other. "Oh,
Harry - oh, my dear - you could have been any where -"
Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of
her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't
managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave
them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.
"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand
wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found
him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away,
head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed
street. "Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked
Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps.
"Malfoy and his fa ther." "Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?"
said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. "No, he was selling ='
"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction.
"Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something ...... "You
be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were
bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's
trou ble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -" "So
you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr.
Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by
the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously
at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall,
waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

,5 s

"But you're Muggles!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must
have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're
changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at
the tenpound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys
and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by
another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven
carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the
bank's underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck
journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt dreadful, far
worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened.
There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and
just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the
corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry
felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to
block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls
of coins into a leather bag.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy
muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George
had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs.
Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr.
Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the
Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy
your schoolbooks," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with
Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted
at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding,
cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling
cheerfully

*57*

in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought
three large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which
they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley,
examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly
at a full set of Chudley Can non robes in the windows of
Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off
to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes
Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan,
who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start,
No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of bro ken
wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in
potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small
and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power. `A
study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers, " Ron
read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating . .
. ."

"Go away," Percy snapped. "'Course, he's very ambitious,
Percy, he's got it all planned out .... He wants to be
Minister of Magic. . . " Ron told Harry and Hermione in an
undertone as they left Percy to it. An hour later, they
headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the
only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they
approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd
jostling out side the doors, trying to get in. The reason
for this was proclaimed

by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his
autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's
written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs.
Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door,
saying, "Calmly, please, ladies .... Don't push, there ...
mind the books, now . . . . "

	Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound
right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was
signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard
Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the
rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs.
Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded
breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see
him in a minute ......

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table
surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking
and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real
Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that
exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set
at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking
photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of
purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to
get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet -"

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the
photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron

*59*


and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet
and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived
forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front.
The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burned as
Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was
clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own
gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front
page."

When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly
feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the
Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and
clamped him tightly to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet.
"What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment
for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on
for some time!

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts
today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography -which I shall
be happy to present him now, free of charge-" The crowd
applauded again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued,
giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to
the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much,
much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates
will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies
and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing
that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being

60

presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart.
Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make
his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where
Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books
into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own -"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry
had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found
himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his
usual sneer.

"Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a
bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It
was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was
glaring at Malfoy.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy.
Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way
over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were
something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're
surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,"
retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for
a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the
cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and
Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and
George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's
go outside."

61

"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's
shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All
those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid
the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use
of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even
pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of
wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr.
and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The
company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family
could sink no lower ='

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying;
Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him
backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came
thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of,
"Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was
shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward,
knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please - please!"
cried the assistant, and then, louder than all

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up -"

62

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In
an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart.
Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the
eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding
Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his
eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can
give you -" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned
to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost
lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his
robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone
knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood,
that's what it is - come on now - let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them
leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed
to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the
Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself
with fury.

"A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in
public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought -"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were
leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if
he'd be able to work the fight into his report - said it was
all publicity -"

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside
in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all
their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using
Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were
leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr.
Weasley started to ask

63

them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look
on Mrs. Weasley's face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket
before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't
his favorite way to travel.

C H-H A P T E RR		F I v E

THE	WHOMPING 	WILLOW

he end of the summer vacation came too quickly for Harry's
liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts,
but his month at the Burrow had been the happiest of his
life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he
thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome he could
expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive.

On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous
dinner that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending
with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George
rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster
fireworks; they fiIled the kitchen with red and blue stars
that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour.
Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were
up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great
deal to do.

65



Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare
socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs,
half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr.
Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken
as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Harry couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two
owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford
Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special
features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he opened
the. trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded
so that the luggage fitted easily.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced
into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and
Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said,
"Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't
they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been
stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd
never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of
the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house.
He barely had time to wonder when he'd see it again when
they were back George had forgotten his box of Filibuster
fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt
in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick.
They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that
she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back
into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were
running high.

* 66

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear -"

"No, Arthur -"

"No one would see - this little button here is an
Invisibility Booster I installed - that'd get us up in the
air - then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten
minutes and no one would be any the wiser -"

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight -"

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr.
Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their
trunks and they all hurried into the station.

Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The
tricky part was getting onto platform nine and
three-quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What
you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing
platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be
done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you
vanishing.

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the
clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to
disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went
next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs.
Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and
setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to
Harry.

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top
of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the
barrier. He felt

61

perfectly confident; this wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as
using Floo powder. Both of them bent low over the handles of
their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier,
gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a
run and

CRASH.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's
trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his
feet, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and
she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around
them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you
think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his
ribs as he got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was
causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about
cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron.

"I dunno -"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still
watching them.

"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't
understand why the gateway's sealed itself -"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling
in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds ... nine seconds ...

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right
against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal
remained solid.

Three seconds . . . two seconds ... one second ...

"It's gone," said Ron, sounding stunned. "The train's left.
What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you
got any Muggle money?"

68

And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles,
out of the station and back onto the side road where the old
Ford Anglia was parked.

Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from
his wand. They heaved their luggage back in, put Hedwig on
the back seat, and got into the front.

"Check that no one's watching," said Ron, starting the
ignition with another tap of his wand. Harry stuck his head
out of the window: Traffic was rumbling along the main road
ahead, but their street was empty.

"Okay," he said.

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car
around them vanished - and so did they. Harry could feel the
seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands
on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he
could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few
feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.

"Let's go," said Ron's voice from his right.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell
away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the
whole of London lay, smoky and glittering, below them.

Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, and Ron
reappeared.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster.
"It's faulty -"

Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it
flickered back again.

"Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the
acceler

* 7 0

ator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and
everything turned dull and foggy.

"Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud
pressing in on them from all sides.

"We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,"
said Ron.

"Dip back down again - quickly -"

They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in
their seats, squinting at the ground.

"I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead - there!"

The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a
scarlet snake.

"Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the
dashboard. "Okay, we'll just have to check on it every half
hour or so - hold on

And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they
burst out into a blaze of sunlight.

It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the
sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under
the blinding white sun.

"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron.

They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long
time, they couldn't stop.

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous
dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to
travel - past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car
full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in
the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred's and
George's jealous faces when they

* 71

landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in
front of Hogwarts castle.

They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther
and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them
a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced
by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish
moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants,
villages with tiny toy churches.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit
that some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made
them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He and
Ron had pulled off their sweaters, but Harry's T-shirt was
sticking to the back of his seat and his glasses kept
sliding down to the end of his sweaty nose. He had stopped
noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was thinking
longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy
ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a plump
witch. Why hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine
and three-quarters?

"Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Ron, hours later
still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud,
staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the
train?"

It was still right below them, winding its way past a
snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy
of clouds.

Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward
again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine.

Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

"It's probably just tired," said Ron. "It's never been this
far before ......

12

And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing
louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars
were blossoming in the blackness. Harry pulled his sweater
back on, try ing to ignore the way the windshield wipers
were now waving fee bly, as though in protest. "Not far,"
said Ron, more to the car than to Harry, "not far now," and
he patted the dashboard nervously. When they flew back
beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint
through the darkness for a landmark they knew. "There!"
Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig jump. "Straight ahead!"
Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the
lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.
But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed. "Come
on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a lit
tle shake, "nearly there, come on -" The engine groaned.
Narrow jets of steam were issuing from un der the hood.
Harry found himself gripping the edges of his seat very hard
as they flew toward the lake. The car gave a nasty wobble.
Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black,
glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles
were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.
"Come on," Ron muttered. They were over the lake - the
castle was right ahead - Ron put his foot down. There was a
loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died com pletely.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, into the silence.

The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering
speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

"Noooooo!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around;
they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned
in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the
vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing
altitude all the time.

Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his
wand out of his back pocket

"STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the
windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground
flying up toward them

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the
steering wheel, but too late

CRUNCH.

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the
thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy
jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood;
Hedwig was shrieking in terror; a golfball-size lump was
throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the windshield;
and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

"Are you okay?" Harry said urgently.

"My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand -"

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply,
held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to
mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At
that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the
force of a

* Y4 *

charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just
as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

"What's happen -?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry looked
around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python
smash into it. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its
trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were
pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

"Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large
dent into his door; the windshield was now trembling under a
hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick
as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which
seemed to be caving

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against
his door, but next second he had been knocked backward into
Harry's lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.

"We're done for!" he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but
suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating - the engine had
restarted.

"Reverse!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the tree
was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots
creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them
as they sped out of reach.

"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car -"

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With
two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt his
seat tip sideways: Next thing he knew he was sprawled on the
damp ground. Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting
their luggage from the trunk; Hedwig's cage flew through the
air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech
and sped off toward the castle

Y5

without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and
steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear
lights blazing angrily.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken
wand. "Dad'll kill me!"

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from
its exhaust.

"Can you believe our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down
to pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we
had to get one that hits back."

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was
still flailing its branches threateningly.

"Come on," said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the
school ......

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured.
Stiff, cold, and bruised, they seized the ends of their
trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward
the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron, dropping
his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing
quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey - Harry
- come and look - it's the Sorting!"

Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at
the Great Hall.

Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long,
crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets
sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always
mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw
a long line of scared-looking first years fiIing into the
Hall. Ginny

* 76

was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley
ha-ir. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch
with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous
Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty,
sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses
(Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Harry
well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and
waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in
his ear. For a few horrible seconds he had feared that the
hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house that had
turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other -but
he had ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione, and
the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had
helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating
Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to
place the hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered past him to
where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the
Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and
half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight.
Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in
robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge
and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on. . . " Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty
chair at the staff table .... Where's Snape?"

Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher.
Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student.
Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the
students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught
Potions.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," said Ha-rry, "because he missed out on
the Defense Against Dark Arts job again!"

"Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically.
"I mean, everyone hates him -"

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's
waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school
train."

Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold
breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow
skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair,
and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry
he and Ron were in very deep trouble.

"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and Ron
followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance
hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell
of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them
away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone
staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold
passageway and pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls
were lined with shelves of large glass) ars, in which
floated all manner of revolting things Harry didn't really
want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was
dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at
them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the
famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley.
Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it -"

78

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the
car?" Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given
Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a
moment later, he un derstood, as Snape unrolled today's
issue of the Evening Prophet. "You were seen," he hissed,
showing them the headline: FLY ING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES
MUGGLES. He began to read aloud: "Two Muggles in London,
convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office
tower ... at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while
hanging out her washing ... Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles,
reported to police ... Six or seven Muggles in all. I be
lieve your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more
nastily. "Dear, dear ... his own son. . . " Harry felt as
though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of the
mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Weasley
had bewitched the car ... he hadn't thought of that .... "I
noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage
seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,"
Snape went on. "That tree did more damage to us than we -"
Ron blurted out. "Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most
unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to
expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the
people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."
Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry
didn't feel hungry any more. He now felt extremely sick. He
tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in
green liquid on a

shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch
Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, they were
hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but
she was still extremely strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was
Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry had seen
Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either
he had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or he had
never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the
moment she entered; Harry and Ron both flinched, but she
merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames
suddenly erupted.

"Sit," she said, and they both backed into chairs by the
fire.

"Explain," she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at
the station refusing to let them through.

"

-so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the
train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have
an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.

Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious
thing to have done.

"I - I didn't think -"

"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking
happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster,
Professor Dumbledore.

Harry's whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking
unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at
them, and

*80*

Harry suddenly found himself wishing he and Ron were still
being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please
explain why you did this."

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the
disappointment in his voice. For some reason, he was unable
to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to his
knees. He told Dumbledore everything except that Mr. Weasley
owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he and
Ron had happened to find a flying car parked outside the
station. He knew Dumbledore would see through this at once,
but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When Harry
had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through
his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of
voice.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor
McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.

Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must
impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have
done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I
must also warn you that if you do anything like this again,
I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He
cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, these
boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage
Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree
- surely acts of this nature -"

* 8i

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these
boys' punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They
are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." He
turned to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the
feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come,
Severus, there's a delicious-looking cus tard tart I want to
sample -" Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron
as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving
them alone with Pro fessor McGonagall, who was still eyeing
them like a wrathful eagle. "You'd better get along to the
hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding." "Not much," said
Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve.
"Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted -" "The
Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your
sister is also in Gryffindor." "Oh, good," said Ron. "And
speaking of Gryffindor -" Professor McGonagall said sharply,
but Harry cut in: "Professor, when we took the car, term
hadn't started, so - so Gryffindor shouldn't really have
points taken from it - should it?" he finished, watching her
anxiously. Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look,
but he was sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less
thin, anyway. "I will not take any points from Gryffindor,"
she said, and Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But you
will both get a de tention." It was better than Harry had
expected. As for Dumbledore's writing to the Dursleys, that
was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well they'd just be
disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn't squashed him
flat.

82

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at
Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver
goblets, and a jug of-iced pumpkin juice appeared with a
pop.

"You will eat in here and then go straight up to your
dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast."

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low
whistle.

"I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.

"So did I," said Harry, taking one, too.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through
a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've
flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw
them." He swallowed and took another huge bite. "Why
couldn't we get through the barrier?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our step from now on,
though," he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice.
"Wish we could've gone up to the feast ......

"She didn't want us showing off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't
want people to think it's clever, arriving by flying car."

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the
plate kept refilling itself) they rose and left the office,
treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle
was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. They walked
past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and
climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they
reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor
Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman
in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as they approached.

"Er -" said Harry.

They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a
Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately;
they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see
Hermione dashing toward them.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous
rumors - someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a
flying car

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"You're not telling me you did fly here?" said Hermione,
sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the
new password."

"It's `wattlebird,"' said Hermione impatiently, "but that's
not the point - "

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the
fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of
clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House
was still awake, packed into the circular common room,
standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs,
waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the
portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione
to scramble in after then-t.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance!
Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be
talking about that one for years -"

"Good for you," said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to;
someone was patting him on the back as though he'd just won
a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of
the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the
car, eh?"

84

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but
Harry could see one person who didn't look happy at all.
Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first
years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to
start telling them off. Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and
nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs - bit tired," he said, and the two of
them started pushing their way toward the door on the other
side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the
dormitories.

"'Night," Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a
scowl just like Percy's.

They managed to get to the other side of the common room,
still having their backs slapped, and gained the peace of
the staircase. They hurried up it, right to the top, and at
last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had
a sign on it saying SECOND YEARS. They entered the familiar,
circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red
velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been
brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry.

"I know I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything, but ='

The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second
year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and
Neville Longbottom.

"Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus.

"Cool," said Dean.

"Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.

Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, too.

* 85 *

H-H A P T E RR		s 1 x

GILDEROY LOCKHART

he next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things
started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The
four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge,
plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs
and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull,
cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table
next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires
propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight
stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told Harry
that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived.
Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them
cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy
with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.

"Mail's due any minute - I think Gran's sending a few things
I forgot."

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough,
there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls

86



streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and
packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package
bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something
large and gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all
with milk and feathers.

"Enrol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the
feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs
in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no -" Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding
Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that - it's that."

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite
ordinary to Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at
it as though they expected it to explode.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's - she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid
whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't My gran sent me one
once, and I ignored it and" - he gulped - "it was horrible."

Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" he said.

But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had
begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few
minutes -"

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from
Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers
in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He
thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound fiIled
the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

8 _

"-	E CAR, I WO ULDN'T HAVE BEEN S UR-

STEALING THE

PRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF
YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR
FATHERAND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE -"

Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made
the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed
deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall
were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler,
and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson
forehead could be seen.

"- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER
WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE
THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -"

Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up.
He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the
voice that was making his eardrums throb.

"-ABSOLUTELYDISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT
WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE
OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped
from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes.
Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just
passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a
babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the
top of Ron's head.

* 88

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you -"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning
with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After
all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer
...

But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall
was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course
schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had double
Herbology with the Hufepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed
the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the
magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one
good thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been
punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the
class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came
striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy
Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and
with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping
Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in
slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched
hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount
of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made
Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was
immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair
shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold
trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the
assembled

89

students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way
to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running
away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is!
I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on
my travels . . ."

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who
was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual
cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in
greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more
interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a
large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught
a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy
perfume of some giant, umbrella- sized flowers dangling from
the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside
when Lockhart's hand shot out.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if he's acouple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but
Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the
greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in
the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.

"When I heard -well, of course, it was all my fault. Could
have kicked myself."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to
say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been
more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I
knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry,
Harry, Harry."

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those
brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.

90

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart.
"Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper
with me and you couldn't wait to do it again." "Oh, no,
Professor, see -" "Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart,
reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "I understand.
Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste
- and I blame myself for giving you that, be cause it was
bound to go to your head - but see here, young man, you
can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed.
Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when
you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's
all right for him, he's an in ternationally famous wizard
already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a
nobody as you are now. In fact, Id say I was even more of a
nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't
they? All that business with He-\"o-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He
glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know,
I know - it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's
Most Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have -
but it's a start, Harry, it's a start." He gave Harry a
hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few
seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the
greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside. Professor
Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the cen ter of
the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear
muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his
place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be
repotting Man drakes today. Now, who can tell me the
properties of the Man drake?" To nobody's surprise,
Hermione's hand was first into the air.

s1

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said
Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the
textbook. "It is used to return people who have been
transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor
Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most
antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me
why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot
up again.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,"
she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout.
"Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and
everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so
tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing
there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who
didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the
"cry" of the Mandrake.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that
wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are
completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe
to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right -
earmuffs on."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out
sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair
over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes,
grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

*92*

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby
popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out
of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was
clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table
and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp
compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor
Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up,
and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill
yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more
exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you
out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to
miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are
securely in place while you work. I will attract your
attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here -
compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the
Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she
spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been
inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a
curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had
never spoken to.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by
the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry
Potter... And you're Hermione Granger - always top in
everything"

* 9%

(Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron
Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his
mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily
as they began fiIling their plant pots with dragon dung
compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? Id
have died of fear if Id been cornered in a telephone booth
by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and - zap - just
fantastic.

"My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how
glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was
slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's
books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have
a fully trained wizard in the family . . . ."

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their
earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the
Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy,
but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the
earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either.
They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and
gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to
squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was
sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back
to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors
hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but
today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned
last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the
summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a
button, but all he managed

* 94

to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled
over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his
wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be
damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd
moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle
it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten
eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally
squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new
one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt
like a wrung sponge. Everyone fiIed out of the classroom
except him and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on
the desk.

"Stupid - useless - thing -"

"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand
let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing
the now hissing wand into his bag. " `It's your own fault
your wand got snapped - '"

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved
by Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat
buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily
changing the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why, "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you
outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.

* 95 *

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast
courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her
nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood
talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry
became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up,
he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on
the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though
transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary
Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went
bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm -I'm Colin Creevey," he said
breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in
Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it be all right if -
can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera
hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly,
edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's
told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to
kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how
you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead" (his
eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said
if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll
move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement
and said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the
odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from
Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either.
So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And
it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked
imploringly at Harry - "maybe your friend could take it and
I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

96

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the
courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he
always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies,
Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry
Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching.
"Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was
about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

`jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore:
half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want
a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think
getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped
laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to
start any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you
away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice.
"Ifyou put another toe out of line' - "

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at
this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy.
"It'd be worth more than his family's whole house -"

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut
Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was
striding

* 97

toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's
giv ing out signed photos?" Harry started to speak but he
was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders
and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet
again, Harry!" Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with
humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the
crowd. "Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming
at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and
we'll both sign it for you." Colin fumbled for his camera
and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling
the start of afternoon classes. "Off you go, move along
there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to
the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good
Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side. "A word to the
wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the
building through a side door. "I covered up for you back
there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too,
your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so
much . . . ." Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him
down a corridor lined with staring students and up a
staircase. "Let me just say that handing out signed pictures
at this stage of your career isn't sensible - looks a tad
bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time
when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever
you go, but" - he gave a little chor tle - "I don't think
you're quite there yet." They had reached Lockhart's
classroom and he let Harry go at

98

last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat
at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with
piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him, so
that he could avoid looking at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and
Hermione sat down on either side of Harry.

"You could've fried an egg on your face" said Ron. "You'd
better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be
starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for
Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club."

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat
loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up
Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held
it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy
Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of
the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch
Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about
that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at
her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books -well
done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing
to worry about

just to check how well you've read them, how much you've
taken in -"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the
front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes -
start - now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:


1.	What is Gilderoy Lockhart 's favorite color?

2.	What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3.	What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest
achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54.	When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his
ideal gift be?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled
through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite
color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of
you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully -
I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday
gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic
peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of
Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at
Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus
Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were
shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand,
was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a
start when he mentioned her name.

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is
to rid the world of evil and market my own range of
hair-care potions - good girl! In fact" - he flipped her
paper over - "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

*100*

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten
points for Gryffindor! And so - to business -"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered
cage onto it.

"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the
foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find
yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only
that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is
that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books
for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the
cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was
cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low
voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the
cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies.
"

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort
of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream
of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are
they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger
annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they
can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high,
with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like
listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover
had been removed, they

*101*

had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the
bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you
make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like
rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted
him into the air. Several shot straight through the window,
showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded
to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging
rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with
them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the
walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and
threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half
the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was
swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're only
pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed,

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his
wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped
and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being
squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the
chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In
the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up,
caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at
the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you three to just nip
the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them
and shut the door quickly behind him.

*102*

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining
pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said
Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever
Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

"Hands on? "said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie
dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he
didn't have a clue what he was doing -"

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books - look at
all those amazing things he's done -"

"He says he's done," Ron muttered.


arry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out
of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a
corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to
have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give
Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six
or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however
exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car
journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing
itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in
Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely
between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil
where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry
was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione
were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry,
however, was shaken awake several hours earlier

*104*



than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the
Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!"

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging
across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he
couldn't understand how he could have slept through the
racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year
and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed
enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on,
grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of
the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be
first off the mark this year -"

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and
tried to find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen
minutes.

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his
cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining
where he'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the
common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had
just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter
behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral
staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and
something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look
what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show
you -"

*105*

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was
brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an
arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that
his photographic self was putting up a good fight and
refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart
gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the
picture.

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.

"No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the
room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry -
Quidditch practice -"

He climbed through the portrait hole.

"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game
before!"

Colin scrambled through the hole after him.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin
ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years,
weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting
alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is
it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there
is?"

Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It was like having
an extremely talkative shadow.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin
breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of
them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"

"Yes," said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the
complicated rules of Quidditch. "They're called Bludgers.
There are two Beaters

), *106*

on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from
their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor
Beaters."

"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping
down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at
Harry.

"Well, the Quafe - that's the biggish red one - is the one
that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the
Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal
posts at the end of the pitch - they're three long poles
with hoops on the end."

"And the fourth ball -"

"- is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small,
very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's what the
Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end
until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's
Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and
fifty points."

"And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin
in awe.

"Yes," said Harry as they left the castle and started across
the dew- drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He
guards the goal posts. That's it, really."

But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the
sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook
him off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called
after him in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat,
Harry!" and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing
room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred
and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and
touslehaired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed
to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow
Chasers, Katie

*107*

Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side
opposite them.

"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly.
"Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually
get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a
whole new training program, which I really think will make
all the difference ....

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on
which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in
differentcolored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the
board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like
caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new
tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right onto Alicia
Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but
there was another board under that, and a third under that
one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful
fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this
very moment up at the castle. "Is that clear? Any
questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken
with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this
yesterday when we were awake?"

Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all.
"We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're
easily the best team. But unfortunately -owing to
circumstances beyond our control - "

*108*

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious
in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous
year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and
had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last
defeat was clearly still torturing him.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before .... Okay,
let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood
shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of
the locker rooms. Stifflegged and still yawning, his team
followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up
completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the
grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw
Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the
toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the
Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring
up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face,
waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It
felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared
right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and
George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they
hurtled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of
the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after
picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted
stadium.

*io9*

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took
him as far away as possible from Colin.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed
through the air toward them. "Why's that first year taking
pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy,
trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field,
broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the
field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he
meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted.
Harry, Fred, and George followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is
our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off
now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of
trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room
for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were
no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to
shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting
with rage. "I booked it!"

*110*

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here
from Professor Snape. `I, Professor S. Snape, give the
Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch
field owing to the need to train their new Seeker."'

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a
seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed
face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at
Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the
whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show
you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly
polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold
lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One
gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning
sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint
carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his
own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by
a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" - he
smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching
Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say
for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes
were reduced to slits.

"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was
going on.

*111*

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you
playing? And what's he doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch
robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy,
smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my
father's bought our team.

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in
front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the
Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new
brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I
expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way
in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you fiIthy little Mudblood," he
spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad
because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had
to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping
on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!" ; and Ron plunged
his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling,
"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously
under Flint's arm at Malfoys face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green
light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him
in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the
grass.

12

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled
out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was
doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support.
Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.
The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching
large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry
to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled
Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can
cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and
was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron
gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can
you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and
Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the
grounds toward the edge of the forest.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin
came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute - almost
there -"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the
front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged.
Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came
striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a
nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

*113* *

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!"
Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you
know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm
surprised you haven't already got one - I'll sign one
tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he strode
away toward the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled
Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They
knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his
expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in
- thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again -"

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the
one- roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner,
a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem
perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily
explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large
copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to
stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the
basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of
times, but with a broken wand -"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound,
Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked,
scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled

*114*

Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table
and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin'
on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was
true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher,
and Harry looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said
in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being
a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was
the best man for the job -"

"He was the on' man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them
a Y

plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into
his basin. "An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult
ter find anyone fer Y

the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on,
see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted
long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his
head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something - it must've been really
bad, because everyone went wild."

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop
looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her `Mudblood,'
Hagrid -"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made
their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could
tell it was really rude, of course -"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of,"
gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name
for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, non-magic
parents. There are

*115*

some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're
better than everyone else because they're what people call
pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell
into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and
continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any
difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's
pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way
up."

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do,"
said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of
magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping
his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see.
Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are
half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died
out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said
Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the
basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired.
'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if
yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Harry would have pointed out that trouble didn't come much
worse than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but he
couldn't; Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented his jaws
together.

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden
thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've
bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

"I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly.
"If Lockhart's still spreading that around -"

*116*

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the
back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh
hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more
famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and
rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An'
then I told him Id never read one o' his books an' he
decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron
reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Harry
and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a
dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was
the size of a large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer
the Halloween feast ... should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were
alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them - you know - a bit o' help -"

Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against
the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe
before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in
fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school
wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use
magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year,
but Harry had never found out why -any mention of the matter
and Hagrid would clear his

*117*

throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject
was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway
between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good
job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding
at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at
Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round
the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter
someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask
me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed -"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and the
ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his
precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry had only had one bit of
treacle fudge since dawn, he was keen to go back to school
to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to
the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing
up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a
voice rang out, "There you are, Potter - Weasley." Professor
McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You will
both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously
suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with
Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic,
Weasley - elbow grease."

*118*

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every
student in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer
his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh n - Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?"
said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her
eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly.
Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of
deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a
well-you-did-break-school- rules  sort of expression. Harry
didn't enjoy his shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought.
Both he and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No
magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm
no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of
practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail
... he'll be a nightmare ......

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed
like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was
dragging his feet along the second-floor corridor to
Lockhart's office. He gritted his teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.

"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in
-"

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles
were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even
signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.



"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as
though this was a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys
Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of mine -"

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over
him, occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now
and then he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend,
Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance
over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry
moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth
envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must
be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably, please let
it be nearly time...

And then he heard something - something quite apart from the
spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about
his fans.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of
breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

"Come ... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let me tear you
.... Let me kill you . . . ."

Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on
Veronica Smethley's street.

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the
best- seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.

* 3-2o *

"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a
litde drowsy? Great Scott - look at the time! We've been
here nearly four hours! Id never have believed it - the
time's flown, hasn't it?"

Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the
voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart
telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time
he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost
empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron wasn't
back yet. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and
waited. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right
arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened
room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his
bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup
before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack
all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took
ages to get the slime off... How was it with Lockhart?"

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and
Seamus, Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Harry
could see him frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was
lying? But I don't get it - even someone invisible would've
had to open the door."

"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and
staring at the canopy above him. "I don't get it either."

* 12-1 *

122 October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds
and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy
by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her
Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker
smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny
Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking
some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair
gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle
windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds
turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to
the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for
regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which
was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday
afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to
Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with
mud..


123 Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy
practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on
the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of
those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that
the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs,
shooting through the air like missiles. As Harry squelched
along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who
looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick,
the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a
window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill
their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . ."
"Hello, Nick," said Harry. "Hello, hello," said Nearly
Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a
dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with
a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost
completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could
see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain
outside. "You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick,
folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it
inside his doublet. "So do you," said Harry. "Ah," Nearly
Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no
importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to
join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't
fulfill requirements' -" In spite of his airy tone, there
was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would
think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the
letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five
times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join
the Headless Hunt?"


124 "Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to
agree. "I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all
been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I
mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and
ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter
open and read furiously: "'We can only accept huntsmen whose
heads have parted company with their bodies. You will
appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members
to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback
Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret,
therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill
our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick
Delaney-Podmore.'" Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the
letter away. "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck
on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded,
but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly
Decapitated-Podmore." Nearly Headless Nick took several deep
breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's
bothering you? Anything I can do?" "No," said Harry. "Not
unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two
Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly -" The rest of
Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling
from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found
himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was
Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the
caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless
battle against students. "You'd better get out of here,
Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood -
he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered
frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been
cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all
over the place -"

.125 "Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing
stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the
spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with
his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry
to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the
rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around
his head, and his nose was unusually purple. "Filth!" he
shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as
he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's
Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough
of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!" So Harry waved a
gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch
back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on
the floor. Harry had never been inside Filch's office
before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was
dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from
the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about
the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls;
from their labels, Harry could see that they contained
details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and
George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly
polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall
behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was
always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by
their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from a
pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for
parchment. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling
dragon bogies . . . frog brains . . . rat intestines . . .
I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where's
the form . . . yes . . ."

.126 He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk
drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his
long black quill into the ink pot. "Name . . . Harry Potter.
Crime . . ." "It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry. "It's
only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour
scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at
the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime . . . befouling the
castle . . . suggested sentence . . ." Dabbing at his
streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who
waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. But as
Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the
ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.
"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a
transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"
And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran
flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside
him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne
menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't
much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his
timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded
as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would
distract Filch from Harry. Thinking that he should probably
wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten
chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart
from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple
envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick
glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way
back, Harry picked up the envelope and read: kwikspell A
Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.

127 Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled
out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing
on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of
modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform
simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?
There is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe,
quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and
wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method! Madam Z.
Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations
and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell
course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends
beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!" Warlock D.
J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my
feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell
course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you,
Kwikspell!" Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of
the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a
Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard?
Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some
Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him
Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the
envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door
opened. Filch was looking triumphant. "That vanishing
cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to
Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet -"
His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell
envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet
away from where it had started. Filch's pasty face went
brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury.
Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope,
and threw it into a drawer. "Have you - did you read -?" he
sputtered.

.128 "No," Harry lied quickly. Filch's knobbly hands were
twisting together. "If I thought you'd read my private - not
that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however
-" Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked
madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his
pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help. "Very well
- go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you
didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go
-" Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the
corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office
without punishment was probably some kind of school record.
"Harry! Harry! Did it work?" Nearly Headless Nick came
gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the
wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to
have been dropped from a great height. "I persuaded Peeves
to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly.
"Thought it might distract him -" "Was that you?" said Harry
gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention.
Thanks, Nick!" They set off up the corridor together. Nearly
Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir
Patrick's rejection letter..

129 "I wish there was something I could do for you about the
Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in
his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he
hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower. "But
there is something you could do for me," said Nick
excitedly. "Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you
wouldn't want -" "What is it?" said Harry. "Well, this
Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly
Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or
happy about this. "Right." "I'm holding a party down in one
of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all
over the country. It would be such an honor if you would
attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome,
too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school
feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks. "No," said Harry
quickly, "I'll come -" "My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my
deathday party! And" - he hesitated, looking excited - "do
you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very
frightening and impressive you find me?" "Of - of course,"
said Harry. Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him. "A deathday
party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last
and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there
aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of
those - it'll be fascinating!".

130 "Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?"
said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and
grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ." Rain was still
lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside
all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over
the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading,
talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George
Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a
Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the
brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of
Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on
a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. Harry was at
the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the
Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into
the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly
round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse
at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine
stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape
into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both
Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind. By the
time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash
promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school
was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great
Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's
vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for
three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore
had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the
entertainment. "A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded
Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party." So
at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight
past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was
glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and
directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.

.131 The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party
had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far
from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all
burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over
their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every
step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly
around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand
fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. "Is that
supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner
and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with
black velvet drapes. "My dear friends," he said mournfully.
"Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come. . . ." He
swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was an
incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of
pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a
crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering
sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a
raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed
midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their
breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into
a freezer. "Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested,
wanting to warm up his feet. "Careful not to walk through
anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the
edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns,
a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful
Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow
sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see
that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost
covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth
by the other ghosts.

.132 "Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back,
turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -" "Who?"
said Harry as they backtracked quickly. "She haunts one of
the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said
Hermione. "She haunts a toilet?" "Yes. It's been
out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and
flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could
avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing
at you -" "Look, food!" said Ron. On the other side of the
dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They
approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their
tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large,
rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes,
burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a
great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry
green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in
the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the
words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October,
1492 Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the
table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held
wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
"Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

.133 "I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger
flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and
leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. "Can we move? I
feel sick," said Ron. They had barely turned around,
however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the
table and came to a halt in midair before them. "Hello,
Peeves," said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around
them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale
and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a
revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked
face. "Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of
peanuts covered in fungus. "No thanks," said Hermione.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes
dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep
breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!" "Oh, no, Peeves, don't
tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione
whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her -
er, hello, Myrtle." The squat ghost of a girl had glided
over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen,
half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" she said sulkily. "How are you, Myrtle?" said
Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you
out of the toilet."

.134 Myrtle sniffed. "Miss Granger was just talking about
you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. "Just saying -
saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring
at Peeves. Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. "You're making
fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her
small, see-through eyes. "No - honestly - didn't I just say
how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and
Ron painfully in the ribs. "Oh, yeah -" "She did -" "Don't
lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face,
while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you
think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat
Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"
"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear. Moaning
Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.
Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts,
yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!" "Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the
crowd.

.135 "Enjoying yourselves?" "Oh, yes," they lied. "Not a bad
turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing
Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly time
for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment.
They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking
around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded. "Oh, here
we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the
dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a
headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry
started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of
Nick's face. The horses galloped into the middle of the
dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front
of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head
under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn.
The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he
could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over
to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his
neck. "Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in
there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless
Nick on the shoulder. "Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and
Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so
that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with
laughter).

.136 "Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the
floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I
mean to say - look at the fellow -" "I think," said Harry
hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very -
frightening and - er -" "Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head.
"Bet he asked you to say that!" "If I could have everyone's
attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless
Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an
icy blue spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies, and
gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ." But nobody heard
much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had
just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were
turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to
recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head
went sailing past him to loud cheers. Harry was very cold by
now, not to mention hungry. "I can't stand much more of
this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra
ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the
dance floor. "Let's go," Harry agreed. They backed toward
the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them,
and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full
of black candles. "Pudding might not be finished yet," said
Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the
entrance hall.

.137 And then Harry heard it. ". . . rip . . . tear . . .
kill . . ." It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous
voice he had heard in Lockhart's office. He stumbled to a
halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his
might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit
passageway. "Harry, what're you -?" "It's that voice again -
shut up a minute -" ". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . .
." "Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione
froze, watching him. ". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving
away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement
gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it
be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings
didn't matter? "This way," he shouted, and he began to run,
up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping
to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween
feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up
the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione
clattering behind him. "Harry, what're we -" "SHH!"

.138 Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor
above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: ". . .
I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!" His stomach lurched -
"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's
and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight
of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own
pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the
second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not
stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted
passage. "Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping
sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ." But
Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
"Look!" Something was shining on the wall ahead. They
approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high
words had been daubed on the wall between two windows,
shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches. the
chamber of secrets has been opened. enemies of the heir,
beware. "What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron,
a slight quiver in his voice. As they edged nearer, Harry
almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the
floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward
the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All
three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt
backward with a splash..Mrs. Norris,


the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch
bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and
staring. For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said,
"Let's get out of here." "Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry
began awkwardly. "Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be
found here." But it was too late. A rumble, as though of
distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended.
From either end of the corridor where they stood came the
sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud,
happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were
crashing into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the
bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front
spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood
alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among
the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly
sight. Then someone shouted through the quiet. "Enemies of
the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" It was Draco
Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold
eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he
grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

C H A P T X IR		N I N E

THE WRTITING ON THE WALL

What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt
by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way
through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back,
clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he
shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"You!"he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've
killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of
other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron,
and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch
bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr.
Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

*140*



"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please
feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking
excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did
Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a
flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of
the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their
hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his
desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the
polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside
the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an
inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely
through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently
prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as
close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in
shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though
he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering
around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the
Transmogrifian Torture - I've seen it used many times, so
unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that
would have saved her . .....

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking
sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look
at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as he detested
Filch, Harry

*141*

couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly
as sorry as he felt for himself If Dumbledore believed
Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath
and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened:
She continued to look as though she had been recently
stuffed.

". . . I remember something very similar happening in
Ouagadogou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full
story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the
townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up
at once ......

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in
agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove
his hair net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the
number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at
Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought
so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say . . . ."

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and
tearstained face to Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore
firmly. "it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face
purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found - in
my office - he knows I'm a - I'm a -" Filch's face worked
horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.

142

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly,
uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including
all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what
a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows,
and Harry's sense of forboding increased; he was sure
nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

"Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong
place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling
his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of
suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs
corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation
about the deathday party. ". . . there were hundreds of
ghosts, theyll tell you we were there -"

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his
black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that
corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Because - because -" Harry said, his heart thumping very
fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if
he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no
one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to
go to bed," he said.

"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile
flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts
provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a
huge rumble.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

*143*

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely
truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were
deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us
the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off
the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be
honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see
no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't
hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at
all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling
light- blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being
X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping.
"I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore
patiently. "Professer Sprout recently managed to procure
some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full
size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs.
Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a
hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative
Draught in my sleep -"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the
Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

They went, as quickly as they could without actually
running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office,
they turned into

*144*

an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.
Harry squinted at his friends' darkened faces.

"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I
heard?"

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one
else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding
world."

Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me,
don't you?"

"'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But -you must admit it's
weird ......

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird.
What was that writing on the wall about? The Cbamber Has
Been Opened... What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I
think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at
Hogwarts once ... might've been Bill . . . ."

"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well - it's not funny really - but as it's Filch, he said.
"A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but
hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of
Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If
Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I
reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why
he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile.
"He's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape
comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

*145*



For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the
attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's
minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as
though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had
seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs.
Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect;
the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone.
When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was
skulking red- eyed through the corridors, lunging out at
unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention
for things like "breathing loudly' and "looking happy."

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate.
According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told
her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without
her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often
happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the
maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I
just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's
expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny
blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite
usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she
was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Harry and Ron
get much response from her when they asked what she was up
to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made
him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a
hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron in the library,
and saw Justin Finch- Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from
Herbology, coming

*146*

toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello
when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped
off in the opposite direction.

Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his
History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a
threefoot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of
European

	Wizards." 	"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches
short 	said Ron fu

riously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into
a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her
writing's tiny. "

"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and
unrolling his own homework.

"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the
shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to
read the whole library before Christmas."

Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away
from him.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot,"
said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as
possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great -"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked
irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out,"
she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a
two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home,
but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart
books."

"Why do you want it?" said Harry.

*141*

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to
read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting
her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else -"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron
desperately, checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had
ten days to finish it -"

"I only need another two inches, come on -"

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of
Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule.
Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost
teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in
his classes was his entering the room through the
blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he
hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach
one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front
of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the
slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his
notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum
cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep
stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a
name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been
speaking for half an hour when something happened that had
never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull
lec

*148*

ture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked
amazed.

"Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us
anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a
clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging
open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance;
Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville
Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy
voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and
legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like
chalk s!-ping and continued, "In September of that year, a
subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers

"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the
air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry
was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive
or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue
that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had
never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend
of which you speak is such a very sensational, even
ludicrous tale -"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's
every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned
to his. Harry

*149*

could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show
of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see ... the Chamber
of Secrets ...

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a
thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the
four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four
school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga
Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They
built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for
it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and
witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together,
seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and
bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then
disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow
between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be
more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He
believed that magical learning should be kept within
all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle
parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a
while, there was a serious argument on the subject between
Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like
a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said.
"But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful
legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that
Slytherin had built a

*150*

hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders
knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of
Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own
true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be
able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror
within, and use it to purge the school of all who were
unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it
wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor
Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone
continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns
looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said.
"Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of
such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and
wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the
gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir - what exactly do you mean by the `horror within' the
Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir
of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his
dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor
Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no
monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only
be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be
able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an
aggravated

*151*

tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and
headmistresses haven't found the thing -"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably
have to use Dark Magic to open it -"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean
he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I
repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so
Dumbledore couldn't -" began Dean Thomas, but Professor
Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not
exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever
built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling
you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to
history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its
usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,"
Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through
the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off
their bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all
this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you
paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in
Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home ......

Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything.
His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat

*152*

had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could
remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that
had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a
year before: You could be great, you know, it's all here in
your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to
greatness, no doubt about that...

But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin House's reputa

tion for turning out Dark wizards, had thought desperately,
Not Slytherin! and the hat had said, Oh, well, if you're
sure ... better be Gryffindor...

As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy went
past.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.

"Harry - Harry - a boy in my class has been saying you're

But Colin was so small he couldn~t fight against the tide of
people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him
squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione
wondered.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his
stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly
remembered the way Justin Finch- Fletchley had run away from
him at lunchtime.

"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next
staircase without difficulty.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked
Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't
cure

* 1,5 % *

Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked
her might not be - well - human."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at
the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened.
They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been
that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from
the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall
bearing the message "The Chamber of Secrets has been
Opened."

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his
bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could
crawl along, searching for clues.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here - and here -"

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny . . .
."

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message
on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane,
where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently
fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery
thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all
climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione
wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and
seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"I - don't - like - spiders," said Ron tensely.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in
surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times
......

*154*

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully
looking anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the
way they move ....

Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know,
when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a
great big fiIthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick
.... You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding
your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and. . . "

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still
trying not to laugh. Feeling they had better get off the
subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor?
Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a
few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this
door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his
hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls'
toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione,
standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place.
Come on, let's have a look."

And ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the
door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had
ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror
were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and
reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few
candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to
the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was
dangling off its hinges.

* -L 5,5

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the
end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how
are you?"

Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating
above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Ron and Harry
suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how er -
nice it is in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp
floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask -"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said
Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings,
you know, even if I am dead -"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry
only -"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled
Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and
now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately,"
said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right
outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" said Harry.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically.
"Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill
myself Then, of course, I remembered that I'm - that I'm "

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

* IL 56*

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over,
and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all
over them and vanishing from sight, although from the
direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest
somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione
shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost
cheerful for Myrtle .... Come on, let's go."

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs
when a loud voice made all three of them jump.

"RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs,
prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his
face.

"That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know
-"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of
Mrs. Weasley.

"Get - away - from - there -" Perry said, striding toward
them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms.
"Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while
everyone's at dinner -"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short
and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on
that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she
still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never
seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of
her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this
business -"

"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now

*157*

reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your
chances of being Head Boy -"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering
his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No
more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!"

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's
ears.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from
Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very
bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he
reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it
ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his
homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2
shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as
though continuing a conversation they had just been having.
"Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out
of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know
who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy -"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him - `You'll be
next, Mudbloods!'- come on, you've only got to look at his
foul rat face to know it's him -"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too.
"The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always
boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's
descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

*158*

"They couldve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for
centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son ......

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible
......

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her
voice still further with a quick glance across the room at
Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous,
very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I
expect -"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will
let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is
to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few
questions without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some
Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than
listen to Snape?" muttered Ron.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We
could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know
it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's
probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room
right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron,
frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the
Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand

*159*

impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very
difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente
Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of
the library." There was only one way to get out a book from
the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of
permission from a teacher. "Hard to see why we'd want the
book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and
make one of the potions." "I think," said Hermione, "that if
we made it sound as though we were just interested in the
theory, we might stand a chance ...... "Oh, come on, no
teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to
be really thick . . . ."

C H-H A P T V It		T 1' N

THE ROGUE BLUDGER

ince the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor
Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead,
he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes
reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked
Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry
had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom
Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head
cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything
except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very
next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting
a werewolf If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping
Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Harry - exactly - and then, if you'll
believe it, I pounced - like this - slammed him to the floor
- thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down - with my
other, I

*161*



put my wand to his throat -I then screwed up my remaining
strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm
- he let out a piteous moan - go on, Harry - higher than
that - good - the fur vanished - the fangs shrank - and he
turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective - and another
village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered
them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

"Homework - compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga
Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of
the best one!"

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the
room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

"Ready?" Harry muttered.

"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All
right . . . "

She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched
tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her.

"Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to
- to get this book out of the library. Just for background
reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking
slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section
of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it - I'm
sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding
with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note
from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very
favorite book. You enjoyed it?"

-162

"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you
trapped that last one with the tea-strainer -"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student
of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and
he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't
it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I
usually save it for book-signings."

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and
handed it back to Hermione.

"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note
with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag.
"Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I
believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear
you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to
try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my
life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever
you feel the need for a little private training, don't
hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to
less able players ......

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then
hurried off after Ron and Hermione.

"I don't believe it," he said as the three of them examined
the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book
we wanted."

"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who
cares, we've got what we needed -"

"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they
half ran toward the library.

"Just because he said you were the best student of the year
-"

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled
stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a
thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.

*163*

"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying
to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let
go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and
thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another
autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long
enough."

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though
determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She
stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several
minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book.
Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying
not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's
out-of- order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden
Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place
anyone in their right minds would go, so they were
guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily
in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the
three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear
from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section.
Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think
about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations,
which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside
out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of
her head.

"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page
headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings
of people halfway through transforming into other people.
Harry sin

*164*

cerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense
pain on their faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said
Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies,
leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her
finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy
enough, they're in the student store- cupboard, we can help
ourselves .... Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn - don't
know where we're going to get that - shredded skin of a
boomslang -. that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of
whoever we want to change into."

"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of
whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with
Crabbe's toenails in it -"

Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we
add those bits last ......

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.

"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal,
Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely
not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break
into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good
idea ......

Hermione shut the book with a snap.

"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said.
There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes
were brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you
know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than
brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find
out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and
hand the book back in ='

*165

"I never thought Id see the day when you'd be persuading us
to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not
toenails, okay?"

"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as
Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full
moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one
days ... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can
get all the ingredients."

"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the
Muggle- borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes
narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's
the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."

However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was
clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry,
"It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off
his broom tomorrow.

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while
thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous,
mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor
lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the
fastest racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to
beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there
with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down
to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the
Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all
looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to
make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy
sort of day

*166*

with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came
hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the
locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor
robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep
talk.

"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point
denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've
trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all
weathers -" ("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't
been properly dry since August") "- and we're going to make
them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy,
buy his way onto their team."

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has
to have something more than a rich father. Get to that
Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got
to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted
them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were
anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the
crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch,
the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands,
which they did, giving each other threatening stares and
gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three ... two ... one. .
.

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the
fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew
higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

*167*

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting
underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy
black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so
narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his
club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a
Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful
whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger
changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry
again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit
it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like
a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other
end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along
behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated
on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat
as many people as possible ....

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end.
Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his
might; the Bludger was knocked off course.

"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though
it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted
after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full
speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his
face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue
what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee
Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty
points to zero ='

*168*

The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their
jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could
to knock Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now
flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see
nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance
to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's - tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred
grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it
launched a new attack on Harry.

"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood
and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle
rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground,
still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled
together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being
flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger
stopped Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger
from murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily.
"Someone's fixed it - it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't
gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done
something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office
since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with
them then . . . . " said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder,
Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in
his direction.

169

"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with
you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going
to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to
the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."

Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.

(I Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily.
"You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let's
ask for an inquiry -))

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said
Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a
crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me
alone!"

"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "
`Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell
him -"

Madam Hooch had joined them.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry -leave
him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's
whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the
telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher
Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged,
and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes
wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his
nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce
dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the
crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue
Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly
as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride
around the

*170*

edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of
rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was
trying to get past Wood

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just
missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the
opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry
was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge
the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet
behind him; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he
saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above
Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry,
hadn't seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to
speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit
him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm
break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid
sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked
over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side - the
Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time
W-ming at his face - Harry swerved out of the way, one idea
firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering,
sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear:
Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

"What the -" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild
snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was
now only

*171*

gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from
the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying
hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his
broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled
with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal
of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched
in his good hand.

"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."

And he fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the
field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of
teeth.

"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the
anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to
worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!"said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ......

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a
familiar clicking noise nearby.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple
charm I've used countless times -"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry
through clenched teeth.

"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who
couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured.
"Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, Id
say -"

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred
and

*112*

George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It
was still putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his
jade-green sleeves.

"No - don't -" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling
his wand and a second later had directed it straight at
Harry's arm.

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's
shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It
felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare
look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face
turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized
as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began
clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did
it feel remotely like an arm.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen.
But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the
thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the
hospital wing - ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you
escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able to - er - tidy
you up a bit."

As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking
a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw
nearly made him pass out again.

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a
thick, flesh- colored rubber glove. He tried to move his
fingers. Nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up

*173*

the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had
been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second - but
growing them back - "

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said
Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas.
"You'll have to stay the night ......

Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed
while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to
stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron
called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers
through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would
have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't
hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do
anything else either."

As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped
pointlessly.

Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam
Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled
Skele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a
steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones
is a nasty business.

So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and
throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still
tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam
Pomfrey re

*114*

treated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down
some water. "We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking
across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's
face ... he looked ready to kill ...... "I want to know how
he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly. "We can add
that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken
the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his
pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff .....

"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be
joking," said Ron. The door of the hospital wing burst open
at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the
Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. "Unbelievable
flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Mar cus Flint
yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top
of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy."
They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin
juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just
getting started on what promised to be a good party when
Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs
rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!" And
Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the
stabbing pains in his limp arm.

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the
pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now
felt full of

large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had
woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that
someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"

The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at
Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down
his long, pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby
warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed
Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed
the train?"

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's
sponge away.

"What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I
missed the train?"

Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden
suspicion.

"It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from
letting us through!"

"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously,
ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and
sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands
afterward" - he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers -
"but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was
safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get
to school another way!"

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was 'so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back
at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a
flogging Dobby never had, sir . .....

*176*

Harry slumped back onto his pillows.

"You nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely.
"You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or
I might strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five
times a day at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he
wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away
in spite of himself.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.

"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a
mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be
freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The
family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for
then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry
Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be
enough to make -"

"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What
d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill
me?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked.
"Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home,
grievously injured, than remain here sir! Dobby only wanted
Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose
you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in
pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears
dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he
means

*177*

to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical
world! Dobby remembers how it was when
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers,
sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course,
Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying
his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has
improved for my kind since you triumphed over
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the
Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir,
and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us
who thought the Dark days would never end, sit... And now,
at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps
happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay
here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the
Chamber of Secrets is open once more

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug
from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head,
toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto
the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby.
. ."

"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And
did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward
the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born - how can I be in
danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered
the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned
in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they
happen - go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must
not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous -"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on
Dobby's

*178*

wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug
again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!"
squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my
best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the
Chamber really has been opened -"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned
Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant!
But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not -"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard
it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway
outside.

"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a
loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin
air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway
to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory,
wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was
carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor
McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet.
Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor
McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight.
Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard
urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into
view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a
cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of
breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore,
bending over the statue on the bed.

*l79*

"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the
stairs.

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor
McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to
visit Potter."

Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully,
he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the
statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring
face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were
stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think
... If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot
chocolate - who knows what might have -"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore
leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid
grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his
attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three
beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."

"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked
urgently.

"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is
indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor
McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

*180*

"But, Albus ... surely ... who?" "The question is not who,"
said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how .
. . ." And from what Harry could see of Professor
McGonagall's shad owy face, she didn't understand this any
better than he did.

C H-H A P T t R	ELEVEN

THE D-KJEL]ING C-L-IJIB

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory
blazing with winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very
stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but
it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had
changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam
Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then
began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

"All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge
lefthanded. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to
Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about
Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look
for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling
slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had
his bones back or not.

*182*



As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of
it, looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met.

"Oh, hello, Harry," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday,
really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the
House Cup you earned fifty points!"

"You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry.

"No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's
not in another girls' toilet .....

Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and
then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He
couldn't see why Ron and Hermione would be in there again,
but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects
were around, he opened the door and heard their voices
coming from a locked stall.

"It's me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a
clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and he saw
Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole.

`Harry!" she said. "You gave us such a fright - come in
how's your arm?"

"Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the stall. An old
cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from
under the rim told Harry they had lit a fire beneath it.
Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of
Hermione's.

"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on
the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry, with
difficulty, locked the stall again. "We've decided this is
the safest place to hide it."

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione
interrupted.

"We already know - we heard Professor McGonagall telling

Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd
better get going -"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better,"
snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul
temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."

"There's something else," said Harry, watching Hermione
tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the
potion. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."

Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them
everything Dobby had told him - or hadn't told him. Hermione
and Ron listened with their mouths open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione
said.

"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius
Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here
and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious.
Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster's in there,
though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking
around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione,
prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it
can disguise itself - pretend to be a suit of armor or
something - I've read about Chameleon Ghouls -"

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead
lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty
lacewing bag and looked at Harry.

"So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke
your

	arm 	He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he
doesn't

stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you."

*184*

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now
lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through
the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly
thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now
moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though
scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was
distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going
the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns
covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her
from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy,
apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to
Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in
talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was
sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large,
evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a
rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed
out that he was in no danger; he was a pure- blood, and
therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face
fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came
around as usual, collecting names of those who would be
staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying,
which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be
the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm
a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still

* 3-85*

needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only
place they were going to get them was from Snape's private
stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's
legendary monster than let Snape catch him robbing his
office.

"What we need," said Hermione briskly as Thursday
afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a
diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and
take what we need."

Harry and Ron looked at her nervously.

"I think Id better do the actual stealing," Hermione
continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "You two will be
expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a
clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem
to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.

Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's
Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon
in the eye.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons.
Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way.
Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on
which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape
prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the
Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered
appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favorite
student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry,
who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention
faster than you could say "Unfair."

Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his
mind on more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's
signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at
his watery

*186*

potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville,
Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded.

Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of
Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a
quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and
sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up,
took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on
target in Goyle's cauldron.

Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People
shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them.
Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a
balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes,
which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate - Snape was
trying to restore calm and find out what had happened.
Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into
Snape's office.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been
splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out
who did this -"

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward,
his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small
melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some
weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk
through gigantic puffedup lips, Harry saw Hermione slide
back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various
swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron
and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework.
There was a sudden hush.

*187*

"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I
shall make sure that person is expelled."

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled
expression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell
that rang ten minutes later could not have been more
welcome.

"He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as they
hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and
began to stir feverishly.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.

"Snape can't prove it was you," said Ron reassuringly to
Harry. "What can he do?"

"Knowing Snape, something foul," said Harry as the potion
frothed and bubbled.

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across
the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people
gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of
parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and
Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First
meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might
come in handy one of these days ......

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron,
but he, too, read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to Harry and Hermione as they
went into dinner. "Shall we go?"

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that

*188*

evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining
tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along
one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The
ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school
seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and
looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they
edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick
was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it'll be
him."

"As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a
groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage,
resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none
other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called ' "Gather
round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear
me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to
start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you
ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on
countless occasions - for full details, see my published
works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said
Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a
tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly
agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we
begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry -
you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with
him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron
muttered in Harry's ear.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart

*189*

was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like
that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the
opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at
least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands,
whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised
their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted
combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the
count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us
will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape
baring his teeth.

"One - two - three -"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed
them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There
was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was
blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage,
smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the
floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione
was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she
squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had
fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the
platform. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you see, I've
lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent
idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't
mind my saying

*190*

so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had
wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy -
however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . .
."

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed,
because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come
amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape,
if you'd like to help me -"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart
teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape
reached Harry and Ron first.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered.
"Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter -"

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy,
come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous
Potter. And you, Miss Granger - you can partner Miss
Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a
Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in
Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy
jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that
she did not return.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform.
"And bow!"

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking
their eyes off each other.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to
three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents - only to
disarm them - we don't want any accidents - one ... two ...
three -"

*191*

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on
"two": His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd
been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but
everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more
time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted,
"Rictusempra!"

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he
doubled up, wheezing.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the
heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees;
Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely
move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it
would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the
floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy
pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!"
and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of
his control in a kind of quickstep.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped
dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look
up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both
Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was
holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever
his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent
Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a
headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their
wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and
pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger
than he was.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd,
looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan
....

*192*

Careful there, Miss Fawcett .... Pinch it hard, it'll stop
bleeding in a second, Boot

"I think Id better teach you how to block unfriendly
spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of
the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and
looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair -
Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over
like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes
devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending
what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a
matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How
about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy
into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give
them room.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at
you, you do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of
wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart
quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops -my wand is a little
overexcited -"

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered
something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up
nervously at Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show
me that blocking thing again?"

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear
him.

"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what
I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three - two - one - go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a
long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor
between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were
screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the
floor.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying
the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the
angry snake. "I'll get rid of it ......

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the
snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of
vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the
floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it
slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised
itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware
of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were
carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he
had shouted stupidly at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And
miraculously - inexplicably - the snake slumped to the
floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on
Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the
snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he
couldn't have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin
looking

*194*

relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful - but certainly not
angry and scared.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and
before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and
stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake
vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was
looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and
calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also
dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls.
Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

"Come on," said Rods voice in his ear. "Move - come on -"

Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside
them. As they went through the doors, the people on either
side drew away as though they were frightened of catching
something. Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and
neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had
dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common
room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said,
"You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?" said Harry.

`A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time
I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on
my cousin Dudley at the zoo once - long story - but it was
telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it
free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a
wizard -"

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron
repeated faintly.

*195*

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh, no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift.
Harry, this is bad."

"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry.
"What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that
snake not to attack Justin -"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?"

"What d'you mean? You were there - you heard me -"

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake
language. You could have been saying anything - no wonder
Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake
on or something - it was creepy, you know -"

Harry gaped at him.

"I spoke a different language? But - I didn't realize - how
can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as
though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so
terrible.

"D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive
snake biting off Justin's head?" he said. "What does it
matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join
the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed
voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what
Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of
Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to
think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or
something -"

"But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite
explain.

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived
about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."

* IL96 *

Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the
curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to
drift past the tower window and wondered . . .

Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slithering? He didn't
know anything about his father's family, after all. The
Dursleys had always forbidden questions about his wizarding
relatives.

Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The
words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face
with a snake to do it.

	But I'm in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat
wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood...

Ah, said a nasty little voice in his brain, but the Sorting
Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don't you remember?

Harry turned over. He'd see Justin the next day in Herbology
and he'd explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not
egging it on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his
pillow) any fool should have realized.

By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the
night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last
Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout
wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky
operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was
so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive
Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor
common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to
play a game of wizard chess.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as
one

*197*

of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and
dragged him off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so
important to you."

So Harry got up and left through the portrait hole,
wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because
of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering,
Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were taking
place, catching snatches of what was happening within.
Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the
sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting
the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that
Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some
work, and deciding to check the library first.

A group of the Hufliepuffs who should have been in Herbology
were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they
didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high
bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close
together and they were having what looked like an absorbing
conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was among them.
He was walking toward them when something of what they were
saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the
Invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide
up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him
down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile
for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something
like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was
Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for
Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with
Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a
girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

198

"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth.
Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you
ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They
called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on,
"Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir,
Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next
thing we know, Flich's cat's attacked. That first year,
Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking
pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we
know - Creevey's been attacked."

"He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly,
"and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He
can't be all bad, can he?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent
closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch
Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I
mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should
have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful
Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He
dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper,
and said, "That's probably why You- Know-Who wanted to kill
him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord
competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been
hiding?"

Harry couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he
stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been
feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted
him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though
they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color
was draining out of Ernie's face.

*199*

"Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin
Finch-Fletchley."

The Hufepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They
all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering
voice.

"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake
at the Dueling Club," said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath,
said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed
off?" said Harry.

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling
as he spoke, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the
snake toward Justin. "

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking
with anger. "It didn't even touch him!"

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're
getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you
can trace my family back through nine generations of witches
and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so -"

- cc I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry
fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said
Ernie swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate
them," said Harry. "Id like to see you try it."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library,
earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was
polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

*200*

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he
was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he
walked into something very large and solid, which knocked
him backward onto the floor.

"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered
balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he
filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead
rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"All righ', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he
could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Canceled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in
here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either
foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's
permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick,
snowflecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered -"

Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the
rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

"It's nothing," he said. "Id better get going, Hagrid, it's
Transfiguration next and I've got to pick up my books."

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said
about him.

	"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen
ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born .....

* 2 0 IL *

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another
corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been
extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through
a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he
tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as
though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and
cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring
blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was
another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and
transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and
horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off
and his face wore an expression of shock identical to
Justin's.

Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his
heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked
wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of
spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the
bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers
from the classes on either side.

He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there.
But he couldn't just leave them lying here .... He had to
get help .... Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to
do with this?

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him
opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting
out.

"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking
Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What's Potter
up to? Why's Potter lurking -"

*202*

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside
down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped
the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could
stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO
MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash - crash - crash - door after door flew open along the
corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes,
there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in
danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly
Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall
as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came
running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had
black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off
aloud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone
back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared
somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the
scene.

"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white,
pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall
sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly,
surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the
teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick,
examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You're
killing off' students, you think it's good fun -"

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and
Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.

*203*

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor
Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department,
but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless
Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan
out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions
to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did,
fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left
Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.

"This way, Potter," she said.

"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear I didn't -"

"This is out of my hands, Potter," said Professor McGonagall
curtly.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped
before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password,
because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped
aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of
dread for what was coming, Harry couldn't fail to be amazed.
Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving
smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor
McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed
behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher,
until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door
ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He knew now where he was being taken. This must be where
Dumbledore lived.

*204*

C I3 A P T V RR	T W E I V

THE POLYJUICE POTION

hey stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and
Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently
and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait
and left him there, alone.

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the
teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year,
Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't
been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown
out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a
chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny
little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood
on spindlelegged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs
of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old
headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing
gently in their frames. There was also an enormous,
claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a
shabby, tattered wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

*205*



Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping
witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if
he took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see ...
just to make sure it had put him in the right House

He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its
shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too
large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done
the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black
inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his
ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er - sorry to bother you - I
wanted to ask - "

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right
House," said the hat smartly. "Yes ... you were particularly
difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" -
Harry's heart leapt - "you would have done well in Slytherin
-"

Harry's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat
and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and
faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.

"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat.
It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it. Then a
strange, gagging noise behind him made him wheel around.

He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind
the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a
half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked
balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry
thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as
Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for
Dumbledore's

pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it,
when the bird burst into flames.

Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He
looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water
somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had
become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second
there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the
floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very
somber.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do
anything - he just caught fire -"

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for
days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when
it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes.
Watch him . . ."

Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn
bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as
the old one.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said
Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really
very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold
plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry
immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and
they make highly faithful pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten
what he was there for, but it all came back to him as
Dumbledore settled

himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry
with his penetrating, light-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the
door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and
Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava
perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster
still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid
urgently. "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was
found, he never had time, sir - "

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting
on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending
feathers everywhere.

"- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the
Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"

"Hagrid, I -"

"- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never ='

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry
attacked those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side.
"Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated
hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his
desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was
somber again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the
tips of his long fingers together.

*208*

"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like
to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all."

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy
shouting, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice
Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he
thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and
remembered what Ron had said: "Hearing voices no one else
can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." He
thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and
his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar
Slytherin ....

"No," said Harry. "There isn't anything, Professor . . . ."

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned
what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic.
Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to
worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost?
people asked each other; what terrible power could harm
someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to
book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go
home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry
and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly
holiday it's going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had
signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad
that most people were leaving. He was tired of people
skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about
to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering,
pointing, and hissing as he passed.

*209*

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They
went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the
corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin,
seriously evil wizard coming through ......

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a
hurry."

"Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea
with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly
who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended
to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they
met.

Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and
George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's
heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be
aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each
time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said
Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at
anything, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty
work."

"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The
Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth
out of him any day now."

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on
the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it
peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he,
Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower,
which meant they could

*210*

play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and
practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had
chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt
with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he
termed their childish behavior, didn't spend much time in
the Gryffindor common room. He had already told them
pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it
was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during
this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron, the
only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by
Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents
for them both.

"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the
window.

"Hermione - you're not supposed to be in here -" said Ron,
shielding his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him
his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more
lacewings to the potion. It's ready."

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that
she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If
we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a
very small package in her beak.

"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are
you speaking to me again?"

211

She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which
was a far better present than the one that she had brought
him, which turned out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent
Harry a toothpick and a note telling him to find out whether
he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation,
too.

The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more
satisfactory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle
fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before
eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying with the
Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite
Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him a luxury
eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last present to find a
new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum
cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking
about Mr. Weasley's car (which hadn't been seen since its
crash with the Whomping Willow), and the bout of
rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next.

No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion
later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a
dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of
holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted
snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore
led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming
more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he
consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched
his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking
them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn't even
care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks

* 2:L2 *

about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit
of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few
hours' time.

Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of
Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall
to finalize their plans for the evening.

"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into,"
said Hermione matter-of-facdy, as though she were sending
them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And
obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of
Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoys best friends, he'll
tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real
Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're
interrogating him.

"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring
Harry's and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump
chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping
Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle
find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to
eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs
and hide them in a broom closet."

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

"Hermione, I don't think -"

"That could go seriously wrong -"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the
one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

"The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's
hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy,
don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," said Harry. "But what about you?
Whose hair are you ripping out?"

*213*

"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a
tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single
hair inside it. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with
me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she
was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for Christmas
- so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to
come back."

When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice
Potion again, Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden
expression.

"Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go
wrong?"

But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the
operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They
lurked in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea,
waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the
Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle.
Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the
banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of
the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of
armor next to the front door.

"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as
Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed
them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into
their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed
greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the
smallest change of expression, they both keeled over
backward onto the floor.

By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across
the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and
mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered
Goyle's fore

* _2 14 *

head and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also
stole their shoes, because their own were far too small for
Crabbe- and Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what
they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's
bathroom.

They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from
the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron.
Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry and Ron
knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged,
shiny- faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the
gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass
tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.

"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed her Goyle's hair.

"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry,"
Hermione said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger
sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle."

The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the
potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione,
nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente
Potions. "It looks like the book says it should ... once
we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change
back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the
glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent
Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

*215*

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed
madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

"Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it
with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."

"Add yours, then," said Hermione.

Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put
Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed:
Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark,
murky brown.

"Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their
glasses. "We'd better not all drink them in here .... Once
we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent
Bulstrode's no pixie.

"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take
separate stalls."

Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Harry
slipped into the middle stall.

"Ready?" he called.

"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.

"One - two - three -"

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large
gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd
just swallowed live snakes - doubled up, he wondered whether
he was going to be sick - then a burning sensation spread
rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and
toes - next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a
horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body
bubbled like hot wax - and before his eyes, his hands began
to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened,

* 2116 *

the knuckles were bulging like bolts -his shoulders
stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him
that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows - his robes
ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its
hoops - his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too small

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay
facedown on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle
gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he
kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it felt
like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off
his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles,
pulled on the spare ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike
shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes and
met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his
forehead. Then he realized that his glasses were clouding
his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them - he took
them off and called, "Are you two okay?" Goyle's low rasp of
a voice issued from his mouth.

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.

Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked
mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deepset eyes.
Harry scratched his ear. So did Goyle.

Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he
looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from
Crabbe, from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla
arms.

"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and
prodding Crabbe's flat nose. "Unbelievable. "

"We'd better get going," said Harry, loosening the watch
that was cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got
to find out

* 217*

where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find
someone to follow. . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how
bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on
Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go -"

A high-pitched voice answered him.

"I - I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on
without me.

"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's
going to know it's you -"

"No - really - I don't think I'll come. You two hurry up,
you re wasting time

Harry looked at Ron, bewildered.

"That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks
every time a teacher asks him a question."

"Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.

"Fine - I'm fine - go on -"

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty
minutes had already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.

Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully,
checked that the coast was clear, and set off.

"Don't swing yourarms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff . . . ."

"How's this?"

"Yeah, that's better . . . ."

They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was

*218*

a Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common
room, but there was nobody around.

"Any ideas?" muttered Harry.

"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over
there," said Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons.
The words had barely left his mouth when a girl with long,
curly hair emerged from the entrance.

"Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten
the way to our common room."

"I beg your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common
room? I'm a Ravenclaw."

She walked away, looking suspiciously back at them.

Harry and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the
darkness, their footsteps echoing particularly loudly as
Crabbe's and Goyle's huge feet hit the floor, feeling that
this wasn't going to be as easy as they had hoped.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper
and deeper under the school, constantly checking their
watches to see how much time they had left. After a quarter
of an hour, just when they were getting desperate, they
heard a sudden movement ahead.

"Ha!" said Ron excitedly. "There's one of them now!"

The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried
nearer, however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin,
it was Percy.

"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.

Percy looked affronted.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's
Crabbe, isn't it?"

2 19

"Wh - oh, yeah," said Ron.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," said Percy sternly.
"It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these
days."

"You are," Ron pointed out.

"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect.
Nothing's about to attack me."

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy
was strolling toward them, and for the first time in his
life, Harry was pleased to see him.

"There you are," he drawled, looking at them. "Have you two
been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been
looking for you; I want to show you something really funny."

Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.

Percy looked outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!"
he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him.
Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught
himself just in time. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who
said as they turned into the next passage, "That Peter
Weasley -"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a
lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's
going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."

He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged
excited looks.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

* 220 *

"What's the new password again?" he said to Harry.

"Er -" said Harry.

"Oh, yeah -pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a
stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched
through it, and Harry and Ron followed him.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room
with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round,
greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling
under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and
several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed
chairs.

"Wait here," said Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to
a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. "I'll go and
get it my father's just sent it to me -"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron
sat down, doing their best to look at home.

Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a
newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose.

"That'll give you a laugh," he said.

Harry saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping
quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry.

It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a
Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the

221

enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for
Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr.
Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up
our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be
scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife
told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on
them.

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping
back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," said Harry bleakly.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his
wand in half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully.
"You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way
they behave."

Ron's - or rather, Crabbe's - face was contorted with fury.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.

"Stomachache," Ron grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those
Mudbloods a kick from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You
know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all
these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose
Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it
doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the
worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves
Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime
like that Creevey in."

*222*

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and
did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "`Potter, can
I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can
I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"'

He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron.

"What's the matter with you two?"

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but
Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were
always slow on the uptake.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly.
"He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he
wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And
people think he's Slytherin's heir!"

Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely
seconds away from telling them it was him - but then

"I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could
help them."

Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless
than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry,
thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind
it all ......

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell
you?" snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything
about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of
course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time,
but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept
quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it.
But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was
opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time
before one of them's killed this time .... I hope it's
Granger," he said with relish.

Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it
would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry
shot him a warning look and said, "D'you know if the person
who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah ... whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy.
"They're probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" said Harry, puzzled.

"Azkaban - the wizard prison, Goyle," said Malfoy, looking
at him in disbelief "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd
be going backward."

He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to
keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with
it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood
filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a
lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of
Magic raided our manor last week?"

Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of
concern.

"Yeah. . ." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much.
Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But
luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the
drawing-room floor

-"

"Ho!" said Ron.

Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry. Ron blushed. Even his
hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening -
their hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and
from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry, he
must be, too.

They both jumped to their feet.

"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further
ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room,
hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the
passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed
anything. Harry

224

could feel his feet slipping around in Goyle's huge shoes
and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they crashed up
the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a
muffled pounding coming from the closet where they'd locked
Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet
door, they sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase
toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted,
closing the bathroom door behind them. "I know we still
haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to
write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the
Malfoys' drawing room."

Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to
normal. He put his glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of
Hermione's stall.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you -"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal
by now, we are

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door.
Harry had never seen her looking so happy.

"Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful-"

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged,
sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got
Millicent's nose or something?"

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink.

Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned
yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her
hair.

"It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode

*225*

m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be
used for animal transformations!"

"Uh-oh," said Ron.

"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you
up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many
questions ......

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the
bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a
hearty guffaw. "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a
tail!"

ermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks.
There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the
rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas
holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had
been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing
trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out
her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed, to
spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new
term started, they brought her each day's homework.

"If Id sprouted whiskers, Id take a break from work," said
Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table
one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione
briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that
all the hair had

* "21 *



gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to
brown. "I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added
in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the
hundredth time.

"What's that?" asked Harry, pointing to something gold
sticking out from under Hermione's pillow.

"Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to
poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He
pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

"To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your
concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of
Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force
Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-
Charming-Smile Award. "

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

"You sleep with this under your pillow?"

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping
over with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?"
Ron said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up
the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so
much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the
sixth year before he finished it. Ron was just saying he
wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were
supposed to add to a HairRaising Potion when an angry
outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs
and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

* 228*

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron
tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice,
which sounded quite hysterical.

`= even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't
got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to
Dumbledore -"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and
they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly
been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on
the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a
glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of
water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as
though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they
could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry, and holding their robes over
their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to
the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored it as
always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder
than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual
toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had
been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left
both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw
something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw
something at you?"

*229*

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet
more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor.
"Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's
funny to throw a book at me ......

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you,"
said Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through
you, wouldn't it?"

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and
shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she
can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her
stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha,
ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.

"I don't know... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking
about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,"
said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got
washed out ......

Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was
pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby
black cover and was as wet as everything else in the
bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron
suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"What?" said Harry.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?"said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, how could it
be dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking
apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the
Ministry's confiscated Dad's told me - there was one that
burned your eyes out. And

*2%0*

everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks
for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had
a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to
wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything
one-handed. And -"

"All right, I've got the point," said Harry.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.

"Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and
he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.

Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on
the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it
eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name
"T M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was
looking over Harry's shoulder. "I know that name .... T. M.
Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty
years ago."

"How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times
in detention," said Ron resentfully. "That was the one I
burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for
an hour, you'd remember it, too."

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely
blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of
them, not even Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist,
half-past three.

"He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron
curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the
printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

*231 *

"He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfufly. "To
have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road ......

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his
voice. "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's
nose."

Harry, however, pocketed it.

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less,
and furfree, at the beginning of February. On her first
evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T. M.
Riddle's diary and told her the story of how they had found
it.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione
enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it
closely.

"If it has, it's hiding them very well," said Ron. "Maybe
it's shy. I don't know why you don't chuck it, Harry."

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry.
"I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special
services to Hogwarts either."

"Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty
O.WL.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he
murdered Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favor .....

But Harry could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's
face that she was thinking what he was thinking.

"What?" said Ron, looking from one to the other.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago,
wasn't it?" he said. "That's what Malfoy said."

"Yeah. . ." said Ron slowly.

"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping
it excitedly.

*232*

a so?

.

"Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione. "We know the person
who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years
ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services
to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his
special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary
would probably tell us everything - where the Chamber is,
and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it -
the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want
that lying around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Ron, "with just
one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

"It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!"

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back
into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red
eraser.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.

She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said
Ron. "Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be
bothered filling it in."

Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, why he didn't just
throw Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though he
knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it
up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he
wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never
heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean
something to him, almost as though

* 233 *

Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small, and had
halfforgotten. But this was absurd. He'd never had friends
before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about
Riddle, so next day at break, he headed for the trophy room
to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an
interested Hermione and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who
told them he'd seen enough of the trophy room to last him a
lifetime.

Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner
cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been given to
him ("Good thing, too, or it'd be even bigger and Id still
be polishing it," said Ron). However, they did find Riddle's
name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old
Head Boys.

"He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling his nose in
disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy ... probably top of every class
-"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione in a
slightly hurt voice.

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again.
Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There
had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly
Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that
the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning
that they were fast leaving childhood.

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for
repotting again," Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one
afternoon. "And after that, it won't be long until we're
cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris
back in no time."

* 243 *

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve,
thought Harry. It must be getting riskier and riskier to
open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and
suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even
now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty
years ....

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful
view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one,
that he had "given himself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves
wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded
corridors singing "Oh, Potter, you rotter . . ." now with a
dance routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the
attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor
McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for
Transfiguration.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he
said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the
Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must
have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him.
Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.

"You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster.
Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more
just now, but I think I know just the thing . . . ."

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at
breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much
sleep because of a late- running Quidditch practice the
night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall,
slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd walked
through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers.
Worse

* 235*

still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue
ceiling. Harry went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron
was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have
been overcome with giggles.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping
confetti off his bacon.

Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted
to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the
decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either
side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat,
Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's
cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a
large beaker of Skele-Gro.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank
the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I
have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for
you all - and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the
entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just
any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden
wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They
will be roving around the school today delivering your
valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my
colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the
occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to
whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor
Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any
wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was
look

* 236

ing as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion
would be force-fed poison.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six,
51 said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first
lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in
searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to
deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and
late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs
for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

"Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking
dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in
front of a line of first years, which happened to include
Ginny Weasley, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however,
cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins, and
reached him before he'd gone two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in
person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of
way.

"Not here," Harry hissed, trying to escape.

"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's
bag and pulling him back.

"Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books,
wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his
ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the
dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the
corridor.

*237*

"What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of
Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly
into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy
could hear his musical valentine.

"What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as
Percy Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the
dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing
to the floor.

"Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your
singing valentine:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine,
he's really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to
evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with
everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of
the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the
crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off
to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger
students away. "And you, Malfoy-"

Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up
something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and
Harry realized that he'd got Riddle's diary.

"Give that back," said Harry quietly.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Malfoy, who
obvi

* 238

ously hadn't noticed the year on the cover and thought he
had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny
was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.

"When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the diary
tauntingly at Harry.

Percy said, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had lost his
temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the
diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning
broadly, caught it.

"Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll
have to report this, you know!"

But Harry didn't care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was
worth five points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was
looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her
classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, "I don't think
Potter liked your valentine much!"

Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class.
Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, too, but Harry pulled him
away. Ron didn't need to spend the whole of Charms belching
slugs.

It wasn't until they had reached Professor Flitwick's class
that Harry noticed something rather odd about Riddle's
diary. All his other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The
diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink
bottle had smashed all over it. He tried to point this out
to Ron, but Ron was having trouble with his wand again;
large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and he
wasn't much interested in anything else.

Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that
night. This was partly because he didn't think he could
stand Fred and George singing, "His eyes are as green as a
fresh pickled toad" one more time, and partly because he
wanted to examine Riddle's diary again, and knew that Ron
thought he was wasting his time.

Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank
pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it.
Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet,
dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first
page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then,
as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.
Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote,
"My name is Harry Potter."

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank
without trace. Then, at last, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words
Harry had never written.

"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you
come by my diary?"

These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had
started to scribble back.

"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."

He waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.

"Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way
than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who
would not want this diary read. "

"What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his
excitement.

*240*

`I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things.
Things that were covered up. Things that happened at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "

"That's where I am now," Harry wrote quickly. "I'm at
Hogwarts, and horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know
anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

His heart was hammering. Riddle's reply came quickly, his
writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell
all he knew.

"Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day,
they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But
this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and
the monster attacked several students, finally killing one.
I caught the person whod opened the Chamber and he was
expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that
such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell
the truth. A story was given out that thegirl had died in a
freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy
for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I
knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the
one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned. "

Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write
back.

"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and
no one seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last
time?"

"I can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You
don't have

to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of
the night when I caught him. "

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What
did Riddle mean? How could he be taken inside somebody
else's memory? He glanced nervously at the door to the
dormitory, which was

*241*

growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh
words forming.

"Let me show you. "

Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two
letters.

(40K.55

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a
high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth
hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June
thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television
screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to
press his eye against the little window, and before he knew
what was happening, he was tilting forward; the window was
widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched
headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of
color and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as
the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with
the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it
wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A
wizened, fraillooking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of
white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry had
never seen this man before.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in -"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read,
frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and
stammered, "Er - I'll just go, shall I?"

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have
heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry
raised his voice.

*242*

"Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half-shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up,
walked past Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw
the curtains at his window.

The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be
sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and
twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no
whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle
had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was
Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more
than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty
years ago.

There was a knock on the office door.

"Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat.
A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was
much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He
looked nervous.

"Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter
you sent me.

"Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together
very tightly.

"My dear boy," said Dipper kindly, "I cannot possibly let
you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go
home for the holidays?"

"No," said Riddle at once. "Id much rather stay at Hogwarts
than go back to that - to that -"

* 243*

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I
believe?" said Dippet curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch
mother."

"And are both your parents -?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at
the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me - Tom
after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "Special arrangements might
have been made for you, but in the current circumstances . .
. ."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's
heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing
anything.

"Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see
how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the
castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent
tragedy ... the death of that poor little girl .... You will
be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the
Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the
school. We are no nearer locating the er - source of all
this unpleasantness . . . ."

Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -"

"What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice,
sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know
something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," said Riddle quickly.

But Harry was sure it was the same sort of "no" that he
himself had given Dumbledore.

*244*

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom ......

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room.
Harry followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to
the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and
so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was
doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his
forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he
hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They
didn't see another person until they reached the entrance
hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and
a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a
fifty-year- younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," said Riddle.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle
exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well.
"Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since . . ."

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off.
Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving
quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the
dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit.

But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a
hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon
in which Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't
been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed,
Harry could only just

*2 45 *

see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the
passage outside.

It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour.
All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door,
staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just
when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and
started wishing he could return to the present, he heard
something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it
was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden.
Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and
followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he
couldn't be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until
Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction
of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then
someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon ... gotta get yeh outta here .... C'mon now ... in
the box. . ."

There was something familiar about that voice ....

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out
behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who
was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box
next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer.

"It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in,
Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the
attacks don't stop."

4 6

"N" at d'yeh -"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't
make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise
and -"

"It never killed no one!" said the large boy, backing
against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a
funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The dead
girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can
do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is
slaughtered ......

"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the
dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The
door behind the large boy flew open with such force it
knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came
something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream
unheard by anyone

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a
gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers -
Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing
bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor
and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking
after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him,
seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling,
"NO000000!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt
himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled
on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle's
diary lying open on his stomach.

*24 7*

Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory
door opened and Ron came in.

"There you are," he said.

Harry sat up. He was sweating and shaking.

"What's up?" said Ron, looking at him with concern.

"It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets
fifty years ago."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an
unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During
their first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon
in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time
before they forgot the giant, three- headed dog he'd
christened "Fluffy." And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that
a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Harry was sure
he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd
probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been
cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to
stretch its many legs; Harry could just imagine the
thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on
it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have
meant to kill anybody.

Harry half wished he hadn't found out how to work Riddle's
diary. Again and again Ron and Hermione made him recount
what

he'd seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and
sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," said Hermione.
"Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people .
. . ."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron
asked dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry
miserably. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was
kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

Ron tried a different tack.

"Riddle does sound like Percy - who asked him to squeal on
Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," said Hermione.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if
they closed Hogwarts," said Harry. "I don't blame him for
wanting to stay here ......

"You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you, Harry?"

"He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," said Harry
quickly.

The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione
voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid.
Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose
in the castle lately?"'

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to
Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more
days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice,
they became

hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why
he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since
Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and
nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever
it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally got bored
of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, Ernie Macmillan asked
Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools
in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes
threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This
made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's
pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told Harry.
"Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the
hospital wing."

The second years were given something new to think about
during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose
their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione,
at least, took very seriously.

"it could affect our whole future," she told Harry and Ron
as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with
checks.

"I just want to give up Potions," said Harry.

"We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old
subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" said Hermione, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron. "I haven't
learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the
witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different
advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat
reading the subject lists with

his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought
Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient
Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with
Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at
the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione
took nobody's advice but signed up for everything.

Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle
Vernon and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his
career in wizardry with them. Not that he didn't get any
guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience.

"Depends where you want to go, Harry," he said. "It's never
too early to think about the future, so Id recommend
Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but
I personally think wizards should have a thorough
understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if
they're thinking of working in close contact with them -
look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all
the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor
type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your
strengths, Harry."

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was
Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as
Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he'd
have someone friendly to help him.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against
Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night
after dinner, so that Harry barely had time for anything but
Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were
getting better, or at least

drier, and the evening before Saturday's match he went up to
his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling
Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been
better.

But his cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the
stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was
looking frantic.

"Harry - I don't know who did it - I just found -"

Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.

The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere.
His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been
pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled
out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the
mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a
few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville
pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus
came in. Dean swore loudly.

"What happened, Harry?"

"No idea," said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry's robes.
All the pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there
anything missing?"

Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into
his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart
books back into it that he realized what wasn't there.

"Riddle's diary's gone," he said in an undertone to Ron.

"What?"

Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron
followed him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common

room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was
sitting alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made
Easy.

Hermione looked aghast at the news.

"But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else
knows our password -"

"Exactly," said Harry.

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light,
refreshing breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically
at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with
scrambled eggs. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent
breakfast."

Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table,
wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in
front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report
the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea. He'd have to
tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew
why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn't want
to be the one who brought it all up again.

As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and
collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was
added to Harry's growing list. He had just set foot on the
marble staircase when he heard it yet again

"Kill this time ... let me rip ... tear. . ."

He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from
him in alarm.

"The voice!" said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. "I just
heard it again - didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a
hand to her forehead.

"Harry - I think I've just understood something! I've got to
go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still
looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come
from.

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging.
"When in doubt, go to the library."

Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again,
but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him,
talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way
to the Quidditch pitch.

"You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven -
the match - "

Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two
Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the
grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the
bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the
locker. room, his only comfort was that everyone was now
outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause.
Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal
posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who
played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a
last-minute discussion of tactics.

Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall
came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying
an enormous purple megaphone.

Harry's heart dropped like a stone.

"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called
through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There
were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated,
landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting
off his broomstick.

"But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play - the cup

Gryffindor -"

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout
through her megaphone:

"All students are to make their way back to the House common
rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further
information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to
her.

"Potter, I think you'd better come with me ......

Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time,
Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he
came running up to them as they set off toward the castle.
To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley .....

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling
about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry
and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school
and up the marble staircase. But they weren't taken to
anybody's office this time.

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall
in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the
infirmary. "There has been another attack ... another double
attack."

Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor
McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered. .

Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long,
curly hair. Harry recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd
accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common
room. And on the bed next to her was

"Hermione!" Ron groaned.

Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

"They were found near the library," said Professor
McGonagall. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this?
It was on the floor next to them ......

She was holding up a small, circular mirror.

Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.

"I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor
McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any
case.

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six
o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the
dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each
lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom
unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training
and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more
evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to
Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment

from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat
choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so
distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed
unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would
urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them
to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and
the Gryffindors began talking immediately.

"That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor
ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff, " said the Weasley
twins' friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. "Haven't
any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all
safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from
Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin -
why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he
roared, to nods and scattered applause.

Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for
once he didn't seem keen to make his views heard. He was
looking pale and stunned.

"Percy's in shock," George told Harry quietly. "That
Ravenclaw girl - Penelope Clearwater - she's a prefect. I
don't think he thought the monster would dare attack a
prefect."

But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able
to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital
bed as though carved out of stone. And if the culprit wasn't
caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime back with the
Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was
faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school
closed. Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.

"What're we going to do?" said Ron quietly in Harry's ear.
"D'you think they suspect Hagrid?"

"We've got to go and talk to him," said Harry, making up his
mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the
monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the
Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start." "But McGonagall
said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're in class -"
"I think," said Harry, more quietly still, "it's time to get
my dad's old cloak out again."

Harry had inherited) ust one thing from his father: a long
and sil very Invisibility Cloak. It was their only chance of
sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone
knowing about it. They went to bed at the usual time, waited
until Neville, Dean, and Sea mus had stopped discussing the
Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up,
dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves. The
journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors
wasn't enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at
night sev eral times before, had never seen it so crowded
after sunset. Teach ers, prefects, and ghosts were marching
the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual
activity. Their Invisibility Cloak didn't stop them making
any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when
Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape
stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost
exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they
reached the oak front doors and eased them open. It was a
clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of
Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were
right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They
found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at
them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them.
"What're you two doin' here?"

"What's that for?" said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as
they stepped inside.

"Nothin' - nothin' - " Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin'
doesn' matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -"

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly
extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it,
and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his
massive hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Did you hear about
Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his
voice.

He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them
both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add
tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a
plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged
panicstricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back
over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked
that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open
his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and
was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious
expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a
pinstriped suit, a

scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots.
Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the
Minister of Magic!"

Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his
chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones.
"Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on
Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to
act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore.
"You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full
confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's
against him. Ministry's got to do something - the school
governors have been in touch -"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away
will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue
eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting
with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be
seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't
Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take
him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty -"

"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"

"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's
eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If
someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full
apology -"



"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the
door.

Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry's turn for an elbow in
the ribs; he'd let out an audible gasp.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a
long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied
smile. Fang started to growl.

"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good. .
."

"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta
my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all
in being inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" said
Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin.
"I simply called at the school and was told that the
headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said
Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still
blazing in his blue eyes.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out
a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time
for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension -
you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel
you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been
now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate,
there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all
know what an awful loss that would be to the school."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended - no, no -
last thing we want just now

262

"The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a
matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly.
"And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks -"

"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said
Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who
can?"

"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty
smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted -"

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the
ceiling.

'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before
they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you
into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," said Mr. Malfoy. "I
would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like
that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the
boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away,
an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be
killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked
at Lucius Malfoy.

"If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course
step aside -"

"But -" stuttered Fudge.

"No!"growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius
Malfoy's cold gray ones.

"However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly
so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that
I will

* 26$*

ummer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky
and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as
cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no
Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds
with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to
Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle,
where things were so horribly wrong.

Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were
now barred from the hospital wing.

"We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told them
severely through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm
sorry, there's every chance the attacker might come back to
finish these people off . . ."

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so
that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop
at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen
in the school

* 265*



that didn't look worried and tense, and any laughter that
rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and
was quickly stifled.

Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to
himself "I will only truly have left this school when none
here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at
Hogwarts to those who ask for it." But what good were these
words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when
everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?

Hagrid's hint about the spiders was far easier to understand
the trouble was, there didn't seem to be a single spider
left in the castle to follow. Harry looked everywhere he
went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were
hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren't allowed
to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle
in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow
students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from
class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the
atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was
strutting around the school as though he had just been
appointed Head Boy. Harry didn't realize what he was so
pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after
Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind
Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of
Dumbledore," he said, not troubling to keep his voice down.
"I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the
school's ever

*266*

had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who
won't want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't
last long, she's only filling in ......

Snape swept past Harry, making no comment about Hermione's
empty seat and cauldron.

"Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the
headmaster's job?"

"Now, now, Malfoy," said Snape, though he couldn't suppress
a thin- lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been
suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us
soon enough."

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I expect you'd have
Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job -
I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -"

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon,
fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending
to vomit into his cauldron.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their
bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the
next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger -"

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy's
last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble
to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went
unnoticed.

"Let me at him," Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his
arms. "I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill
him with my bare hands -"

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked
Snape over the class's heads, and off they marched, with
Harry, Ron, and Dean bringing up the rear, Ron still trying
to get loose. It was only

* 261*

safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the
castle and they were making their way across the vegetable
patch toward the greenhouses.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two
missing from their number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian
Shrivelfigs. Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks
onto the compost heap and found himself face-to-face with
Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and said, very
formally, "I just want to say, Harry, that I'm sorry I ever
suspected you. I know you'd never attack Hermione Granger,
and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We're all in the
same boat now, and, well -"

He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same
Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron.

"That Draco Malfoy character," said Ernie, breaking off dead
twigs, "he seems very pleased about all this, doesn't he?
D'you know, I think he might be Slytherin's heir."

"That's clever of you," said Ron, who didn't seem to have
forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry.

"Do you think it's Malfoy, Harry?" Ernie asked.

"No," said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared.

A second later, Harry spotted something.

Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the
other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight
line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged
meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand with his pruning
shears.

"Ouch! What're you -"

268

Harry pointed out the spiders, following their progress with
his eyes screwed up against the sun.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased.
"But we can't follow them now -"

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they
pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about
where they would end up.

"Looks like they're heading for the Forbidden Forest . . .
."

And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class
to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry and Ron
lagged behind the others so they could talk out of earshot.

"We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Harry told
Ron. "We can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the
forest with Hagrid, he might be some help."

"Right," said Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in
his fingers. "Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to
be werewolves in the forest?" he added as they took their
usual places at the back of Lockhart's classroom.

Preferring not to answer that question, Harry said, "There
are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right,
and the unicorns ...

Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Harry
had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him.
Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than
usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

2 69

"Come now," he cried, beaming around him. "Why all these
long faces?"

People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

"Don't you people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly,
as though they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed!
The culprit has been taken away -"

"Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have
taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that
he was guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone
explaining that one and one made two.

"Oh, yes he would," said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.

"I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid's arrest
than you do, Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart in a self-satisfied
tone.

Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow, but
stopped in midsentence when Harry kicked him hard under the
desk.

"We weren't there, remember?" Harry muttered.

But Lockhart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had
always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the
whole business was now at an end, irritated Harry so much
that he yearned to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in
Lockhart's stupid face. Instead he contented himself with
scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.

Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at
the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed
to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these
days, because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had no
-

*270*

where else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with
the result that the common room often didn't empty until
past midnight.

Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk
right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it,
waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged
Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny
sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione's usual chair.
Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the
games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when
Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed.

Harry and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory
doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over
themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging
all the teachers. At last they reached the entrance hall,
slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between
them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the
moonlit grounds.

"'Course," said Ron abruptly as they strode across the black
grass, "we might get to the forest and find there's nothing
to follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at
all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of
general direction, but. . ."

His voice trailed away hopefully.

They reached Hagrid's house, sad and sorry-looking with its
blank windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went
mad with joy at the sight of them. Worried he might wake
everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, they
hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece,
which glued his teeth together.

Harry left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid's table. There
would be no need for it in the pitch-dark forest.

* 21:L *

"C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," said Harry, patting
his leg, and Fang bounded happily out of the house behind
them, dashed to the edge of the forest, and lifted his leg
against a large sycamore tree.

Harry took out his wand, murmured, "Lumos!" and a tiny light
appeared at the end of it, just enough to let them watch the
path for signs of spiders.

"Good thinking," said Ron. "Id light mine, too, but you know
- it'd probably blow up or something ......

Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two
solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into
the shade of the trees.

"Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, "I'm
ready. Let's go."

So, with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots
and leaves, they entered the forest. By the glow of Harry's
wand, they followed the steady trickle of spiders moving
along the path. They walked behind them for about twenty
minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than
breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had
become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no
longer visible, and Harry's wand shone alone in the sea of
dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path.

Harry paused, trying to see where the spiders were going,
but everything outside his little sphere of *light was
pitch-black. He had never been this deep into the forest
before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to
leave the forest path last time he'd been in here. But
Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in
Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

* 2-V2 *

Something wet touched Harry's hand and he jumped backward,
crushing Rods foot, but it was only Fang's nose.

"What d'you reckon?" Harry said to Ron, whose eyes he could
just make out, reflecting the light from his wand.

"We've come this far," said Ron.

So they followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the
trees. They couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree
roots and stumps in their way, barely visible in the near
blackness. Harry could feel Fang's hot breath on his hand.
More than once, they had to stop, so that Harry could crouch
down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

They walked for what seemed like at least half an hour,
their robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles.
After a while, they noticed that the ground seemed to be
sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making
both Harry and Ron jump out of their skins.

"What?" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark,
and gripping Harry's elbow very hard.

"There's something moving over there," Harry breathed.
"Listen ... sounds like something big ......

They listened. Some distance to their right, the something
big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the
trees.

"Oh, no," said Ron. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh -"

"Shut up," said Harry frantically. "It'll hear you."

"Hear me?" said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. "It's
already heard Fang!"

The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they

* 273*

stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling
noise and then silence.

"What d'you think it's doing?" said Harry.

"Probably getting ready to pounce," said Ron.

They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move.

"D'you think it's gone?" Harry whispered.

"Dunno -"

Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so
bright in the darkness that both of them flung up their
hands to shield their eyes. Fang yelped and tried to run,
but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelped even louder.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief "Harry,
it's our car!"

"What?"

"Come on!"

Harry blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and
tripping, and a moment later they had emerged into a
clearing.

Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, in the middle of a
circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its
headlights ablaze. As Ron walked, open-mouthed, toward it,
it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise
dog greeting its owner.

"It's been here all the time!" said Ron delightedly, walking
around the car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it wild . .
. ."

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud.
Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on
its own. Fang didn't seem at all keen on it; he kept close
to Harry, who could feel him quivering. His breathing
slowing down again, Harry stuffed his wand back into his
robes.

*214*

"And we thought it was going to attack us!" said Ron,
leaning against the car and patting it. "I wondered where it
had gone!"

Harry squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of
more spiders, but they had all scuttled away from the glare
of the headlights.

"We've lost the trail," he said. "C'mon, let's go and find
them."

Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a
point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind
Harry. His face was livid with terror.

Harry didn't even have time to turn around. There was a loud
clicking noise and suddenly he felt something long and hairy
seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so
that he was hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he
heard more clicking, and saw Ron's legs leave the ground,
too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - next moment, he was
being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, Harry saw that what had hold of him was
marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two
clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers.
Behind him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt
carrying Ron. They were moving into the very heart of the
forest. Harry could hear Fang fighting to free himself from
a third monster, whining loudly, but Harry couldn't have
yelled even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his
voice back with the car in the clearing.

He never knew how long he was in the creature's clutches; he
only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him
to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with
spiders. Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they
had reached the ridge of

*21$*

a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so
that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene he had
ever laid eyes on.

Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves
below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed,
eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen
that was carrying Harry made its way down the steep slope
toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow,
while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their
pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

Harry fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released
him. Ron and Fang thudded down next to him. Fang wasn't
howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron
looked exactly like Harry felt. His mouth was stretched wide
in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping.

Harry suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him
was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he
clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.

"Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the
size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was
gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes
on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.

"What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

"Men," clicked the spider who had caught Harry.

"Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky
eyes wandering vaguely.

"Strangers," clicked the spider who had brought Ron.

"Kill them," clicked Aragog fretfully. "I was sleeping
......

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted. His heart seemed
to have left his chest to pound in his throat.

*216*

Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all
around the hollow.

Aragog paused.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," he said
slowly.

"Hagrid's in trouble," said Harry, breathing very fast.
"That's why we've come."

"In trouble?" said the aged spider, and Harry thought he
heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. "But why has he
sent you?"

Harry thought of getting to his feet but decided against it;
he didn't think his legs would support him. So he spoke from
the ground, as calmly as he could.

"They think,, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a
a - something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the
hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was
like applause, except applause didn't usually make Harry
feel sick with fear.

"But that was years ago," said Aragog fretfully. "Years and
years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him
leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that
dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They
thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

"And you ... you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?"
said Harry, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead.

"I!" said Aragog, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the
castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to
Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he
cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me
on scraps from the table. Hagrid

2Y

is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered,
and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have
lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still
visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how
our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness ......

Harry summoned what remained of his courage.

"So you never - never attacked anyone?"

"Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been my
instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a
human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in
a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the
cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the
quiet ......

"But then ... Do you know what did kill that girl?" said
Harry. "Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking
people again -"

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and
the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black
shapes shifted all around him.

"The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an
ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I
remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I
sensed the beast moving about the school."

"What is it?" said Harry urgently.

More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be
closing in.

"We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not
name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread
creature, though he asked me, many times."

Harry didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders

* 2-V8 *

pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of
tamng. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his
fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward Harry and
Ron.

"We'll just go, then," Harry called desperately to Aragog,
hearing leaves rustling behind him.

"Go?" said Aragog slowly. "I think not ......

"But - but -"

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command.
But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so
willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid."

Harry spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a
solid wall of spiders, clicking, their many eyes gleaming in
their ugly black heads.

Even as he reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no good,
there were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready
to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of
light flamed through the hollow.

Mr. Weasley's car was thundering down the slope, headlights
glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside;
several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs
waving in the air. The car screeched to a halt in front of
Harry and Ron and the doors flew open.

"Get Fang!" Harry yelled, diving into the front seat; Ron
seized the boarhound around the middle and threw him,
yelping, into the back of the car - the doors slammed shut -
Ron didn't touch the accelerator but the car didn't need
him; the engine roared and they were off, hitting more
spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they
were soon crashing through the forest, branches

whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly
through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

Harry looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in
the silent scream, but his eyes weren't popping anymore.

"Are you okay?"

Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling
loudly in the back seat, and Harry saw the side mirror snap
off as they squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy,
rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry could again see
patches of sky.

The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown
into the windshield. They had reached the edge of the
forest. Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to
get out, and when Harry opened the door, he shot off through
the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs. Harry
got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain
the feeling in his limbs and followed, still stiff-necked
and staring. Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it
reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.

Harry went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility
Cloak. Fang was trembling under a blanket in his basket.
When Harry got outside again, he found Ron being violently
sick in the pumpkin patch.

"Follow the spiders," said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on
his sleeve. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be
alive."

"I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said
Harry.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the
wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad
as they're

*280*

made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!"
He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of
sending us in there? What have we found out, Id like to
know?"

"That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," said
Harry, throwing the cloak over Ron and prodding him in the
arm to make him walk. "He was innocent."

Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a
cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent.

As the castle loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make
sure their feet were hidden, then pushed the creaking front
doors ajar. They walked carefully back across the entrance
hall and up the marble staircase, holding their breath as
they passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking.
At last they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common
room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash.
They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to
their dormitory.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed.
Harry, however, didn't feel very sleepy. He sat on the edge
of his fourposter, thinking hard about everything Aragog had
said.

The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, he
thought, sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort - even
other monsters didn't want to name it. But he and Ron were
no closer to finding out what it was, or how it Petrified
its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the
Chamber of Secrets.

Harry swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against
his pillows, watching the moon glinting at him through the
tower window.

He couldn't see what else they could do. They had hit dead
ends

*281*

everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of
Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was
the same person, or a different one, who had opened the
Chamber this time. There was nobody else to ask. Harry lay
down, still thinking about what Aragog had said.

He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last
hope occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Ron," he hissed through the dark, "Ron -"

Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and
saw Harry.

"Ron -that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a
bathroom," said Harry, ignoring Neville's snufing snores
from the corner. "What if she never left the bathroom? What
if she's still there?"

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And
then he understood, too.

"You don't think - not Moaning Myrtle?"

	A ll those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just 	
three toilets away," said Ron bitterly at breakfast next
day,

"and we could've asked her, and now. . ."

It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping
their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom,
the girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of
the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.

But something happened in their first lesson,
Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of
their minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into
the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their exams
would start on the first of June, one week from today.

`Exams?" howled Seamus Finnigan. "We're still getting
exams?"

There was a loud bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom's
wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk.
Professorr

*28%*



McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and
turned, frowning, to Seamus.

"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is
for you to receive your education," she said sternly. "The
exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you
are all studying hard."

Studying hard! It had never occurred to Harry that there
would be exams with the castle in this state. There was a
great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made
Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.

"Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school
running as normally as possible, she said. "And that, I need
hardly point out, means finding out how much you have
learned this year.

Harry looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was
supposed to be turning into slippers. What had he learned so
far this year? He couldn't seem to think of anything that
would be useful in an exam.

Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to go and
live in the Forbidden Forest.

"Can you imagine me taking exams with this?" he asked Harry,
holding up his wand, which had just started whistling
loudly.

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall
made another announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of
falling silent, erupted.

"Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at
the Ravenclaw table.

284*

"Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said,
"Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are
ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to
revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly
remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us
who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful
year will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the
Slytherin table and wasn't at all surprised to see that
Draco Malfoy hadn't joined in. Ron, however, was looking
happier than he'd looked in days.

"It won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said
to Harry. "Hermione'll probably have all the answers when
they wake her up! Mind you, she'll go crazy when she finds
out we've got exams in three days' time. She hasn't studied.
It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they're
over."

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron.
She looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her
hands were twisting in her lap.

"What's up?" said Ron, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up and down the
Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that
reminded Harry of someone, though he couldn't think who.

"Spit it out," said Ron, watching her.

Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was
rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly
like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of
revealing forbidden information.

"I've got to tell you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully
not looking at Harry.

"What is it?" said Harry.

Ginny looked as though she couldn't find the right words.

"What?"said Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned
forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could
hear him.

"Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen
something? Someone acting oddly?"

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy
Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan.

"If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm
starving, I've only just come off patrol duty."

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been
electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and
scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the
center of the table.

"Percy!" said Ron angrily. "She was just about to tell us
some-' thing important!"

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.

"What sort of thing?" he said, coughing.

"I just asked her if she'd seen anything odd, and she
started to say

"Oh - that - that's nothing to do with the Chamber of
Secrets," said Percy at once.

"How do you know?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the
other day when I was - well, never mind - the point is, she
spot

ted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention
it to anybody. I must say, I did think she'd keep her word.
It's nothing, really, Id just rather -"

Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable.

"What were you doing, Percy?" said Ron, grinning. "Go on,
tell us, we won't laugh."

Percy didn't smile back.

"Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving."

Harry knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow
without their help, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance
to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to his delight it
did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of
Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had
passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now
wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the
trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair
wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of
the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a corner.
"The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths
will be It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor
McGonagall thinks all these security measures are
necessary."

(ti agree, sir," said Harry, making Ron drop his books in
surprise.

"Thank you, Harry, said Lockhart graciously while they
waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we
teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without
walking students to classes and standing guard all night
......

"That's right," said Ron, catching on. "Why don't you leave
us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go -"

"You know, Weasley, I think I will," said Lockhart. "I
really should go and prepare my next class -"

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl
his hair, more like."

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them,
then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as they were
congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme

"Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?"

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest
of thin lines.

"We were -we were-" Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go
and see -"

"Hermione," said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both
looked at him.

"We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," Harry went on
hurriedly, treading on Ron's foot, "and we thought we'd
sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the
Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry -"

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a
moment, Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she
spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course," she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear
glistening in her beady eye. "Of course, I realize this has
all been hardest on the friends of those who have been ... I
quite understand. Yes,

Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform
Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have
given my permission."

Harry and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that
they'd avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they
distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

"That," said Ron fervently, "was the best story you've ever
come up with."

They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and
tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's
permission to visit Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.

"There's just no point talking to a Petrified. person," she
said, and they had to admit she had a point when they'd
taken their seats next to Hermione. It was plain that
Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling that she had
visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside
cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron,
looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he
sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know . .....

But Harry wasn't looking at Hermione's face. He was more
interested in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her
blankets, and bending closer, he saw that a piece of paper
was scrunched inside her fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed
this out to Ron.

"TG and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so
that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly
around the paper that Harry was sure he was going to tear
it. While Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last,
after several tense minutes, the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry
smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it,
too.

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land,
there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk,
known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may
reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born

from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of
killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and
venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all
who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant
death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their
mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing
of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand
Harry recognized as Hermione's. Pipes.

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his
brain.

"Ron," he breathed. "This is it. This is the answer. The
monster in the Chamber's a basilisk - a giant serpent! That
why I've been hearing that voice all over the place, and
nobody else has heard it. It's because I understand
Parseltongue . . . ."

Harry looked up at the beds around him.

"The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's
died - because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin
saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the
film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified. Justin . . .
Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless
Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die
again . . . and Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were
found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized
the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned
the first person she met to look around corners with a
mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror - and -"

Rods jaw had dropped.

"And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered eagerly.

Harry thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of
Halloween.

"The water. . ." he said slowly. "The flood from Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the
reflection . . . ."

He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked
at it, the more it made sense.

`: . . The crowing of the rooster . . . is fatal to it"! he
read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of
Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the
Chamber was opened! Spidersflee before it.! It all fits!"

"But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" said
Ron. "A giant snake . . . Someone would've seen. . ."

Harry, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled
at the foot of the page.

"Pipes," he said. "Pipes . . . Ron, it's been using the
plumbing. I've been hearing that voice inside the walls . .
. ."

291*

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry's arm. "The entrance to the
Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely. "What if it's a
bathroom? What if it's in -" `= Moaning Myrtle's bathroom,
"said Harry. They sat there, excitement coursing through
them, hardly able to believe it. "This means," said Harry,
"I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of
Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been controlling the
basilisk." "What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose eyes
were flashing. "Should we go straight to McGonagall?" "Let's
go to the staff room," said Harry, jumping up. "She'll be
there in ten minutes. It's nearly break." They ran
downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in
another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff
room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden
chairs. Harry and Ron paced around it, too excited to sit
down. But the bell to signal break never came. Instead,
echoing through the corridors came Professor McGon agall's
voice, magically magnified. `All students to return to their
House dormitories at once. All teach ers return to the staff
room. Immediately, please. "

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. "Not another attack?
Not now?" "What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the
dormitory?" "No," said Harry, glancing around. There was an
ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers'
cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we
can tell them what we've found out."

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of
hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door
banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks,
they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of
them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then
Professor McGonagall arrived.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A
student has been taken by the monster. Right into the
Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout
clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of
a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was
very white, "left another message. Right underneath the
first one. `Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. "'

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed,
into a chair. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor
beside him.

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," said
Professor McGonagall. "This is the end of Hogwarts.
Dumbledore always said. . ."

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment,
Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart,
and he was beaming.

"So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?"

He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were
looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape
stepped forward.

"Just the man," he said. "The very man. A girl has been
snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of
Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

Lockhart blanched.

"That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout.
"Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all
along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I - well, I -"sputtered Lockhart.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was
inside it?" piped up Professor Flitwick.

"D-did I? I don't recall -"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't
had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said
Snape. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been
bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein
from the first?"

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.

"I - I really never - you may have misunderstood -"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Professor
McGonagall. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it.
We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able
to tackle the monster all by youself. A free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to
the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His
lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy
grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.

"V very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office,
getting getting ready."

And he left the room.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were
flared,

"that's got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses
should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell
them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing
tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students
have been left outside their dormitories."

The teachers rose and left, one by one.

It was probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. He,
Ron, Fred, and George sat together in a corner of the
Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each
other. Percy wasn't there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had
Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near
sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there
any longer.

"She knew something, Harry," said Ron, speaking for the
first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff
room. "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing
about Percy at all., She'd found out something about the
Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -" Ron rubbed
his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pure- blood. There
can't be any other reason."

Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the
skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there
was something they could do. Anything.

"Harry" said Ron. "D'you think there's any chance at all
she's not - you know ="

Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't see how Ginny
could still be alive.

"D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see

*295*

Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get
into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and
tell him it's a basilisk in there."

Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and
because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The
Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry
for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got
up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart's
office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside
it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside.
Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of
Lockhart's eyes peering through it.

"Oh - Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley -" he said, opening the door
a bit wider. "I'm rather busy at the moment - if you would
be quick -"

"Professor, we've got some information for you," said Harry.
"We think it'll help you."

"Er - well - it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's
face that they could see looked very uncomfortable. "I mean
- well all right -"

He opened the door and they entered.

His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large
trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac,
midnightblue, had been hastily folded into one of them;
books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs
that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on
the desk.

*296*

"Are you going somewhere?" said Harry.

"Er, well, yes," said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster
of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and
starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - unavoidable - got to
go -"

"What about my sister?" said Ron jerkily.

"Well, as to that - most unfortunate -" said Lockhart,
avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started
emptying the contents into a bag. "No one regrets more than
I -"

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" said
Harry. "You can't go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going
on here!"

"Well - I must say - when I took the job -" Lockhart
muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. "nothing in
the job description - didn't expect -"

"You mean you're running away?" said Harry disbelievingly.
"After all that stuff you did in your books -"

"Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.

"You wrote them!" Harry shouted.

"My dear boy," said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning
at Harry. "Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have
sold half as well if people didn't think Id done all those
things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian
warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd
look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And
the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I
mean, come on -"

"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other
people have done?" said Harry incredulously.

"Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently,
"it's not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved.
I had

*297*

to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they
managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory
Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's
one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms. No, it's
been a lot of work, Harry. It's not all book signings and
publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be
prepared for a long hard slog."

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

"Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only
one thing left."

He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

"Awfully sorry, boys, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on
you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the
place. Id never sell another book -"

Harry reached his wand just in time. Lockhart had barely
raised his, when Harry bellowed, "Expelliarmus!"

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his
wand flew high into the air; Ron caught it, and flung it out
of the open window.

"Shouldn't have let Professor Snape teach us that one," said
Harry furiously, kicking Lockhart's trunk aside. Lockhart
was looking up at him, feeble once more. Harry was still
pointing his wand at him.

"What d'you want me to do?" said Lockhart weakly. "I don't
know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can
do."

"You're in luck," said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet
at wandpoint. "We think we know where it is. And what's
inside it. Let's go."

*298*

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest
stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on
the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that
he was shaking.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. "What do you
want this time?"

"To ask you how you died," said Harry.

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though
she had never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened
right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so
well. Id hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my
glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I
heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A
different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what
really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked
the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then
-" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."

"How?" said Harry.

"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember
seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort
of seized up, and then I was floating away . . . ." She
looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was
determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry
she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Harry.

*299*

"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the
sink in front of her toilet.

Harry and Ron hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well
back, a look of utter terror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of
it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then
Harry saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper
taps was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried
to turn it.

"Harry," said Ron. "Say something. Something in
Parseltongue."

"But -" Harry thought hard. The only times he'd ever managed
to speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced with a real
snake. He stared hard at the tiny- engraving, trying to
imagine it was real.

"Open up," he said.

He looked at Ron, who shook his head.

"English," he said.

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe
it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it
look as though it were moving.

"Open up," he said.

Except that the words weren't what he heard; a strange
hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a
brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the
sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of
sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for
a man to slide into.

Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his
mind what he was going to do.

*300*

"I'm going down there," he said. .

He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to
the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest,
wildest chance that Ginny might be alive.

"Me too," said Ron.

There was a pause.

"Well, you hardly seem to need me," said Lockhart, with a
shadow of his old smile. "I'll just -"

He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both
pointed their wands at him.

"You can go first," Ron snarled.

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

"Boys," he said, his voice feeble. "Boys, what good will it
do?"

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid
his legs into the pipe.

"I really don't think -" he started to say, but Ron gave him
a push, and he slid out of sight. Harry followed quickly. He
lowered himself slowly into the pipe, then let go.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He
could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but
none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping
steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper
below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could
hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would
happen when he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he
shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp
floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.
Lockhart was getting to his

*301

feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a
ghost. Harry stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the
pipe, too.

"We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice
echoing in the black tunnel.

"Under the lake, probably," said Ron, squinting around at
the dark, slimy walls.

All three of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

"Lumos!" Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again.
"C'mon," he said to Ron and Lockhart, and off they went,
their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little
distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked
monstrous in the wandlight.

"Remember," Harry said quietly as they walked cautiously
forward, "any sign of movement, close your eyes right away .
.....

But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first
unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped
on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his
wand to look at the floor and saw that it was littered with
small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what
Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led the way
forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

"Harry - there's something up there -" said Ron hoarsely,
grabbing Harry's shoulder.

They froze, watching. Harry could just see the outline of
something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It
wasn't moving.

"Maybe it's asleep," he breathed, glancing back at the other
two. Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes. Harry
turned back to look at the thing, his heart beating so fast
it hurt.

* 302 *

Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and
still see, Harry edged forward, his wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid,
poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel
floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty
feet long at least.

"Blimey," said Ron weakly.

There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart's
knees had given way.

"Get up," said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet - then he dived at Ron, knocking
him to the ground.

Harry jumped forward, but too late - Lockhart was
straightening up, panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a
gleaming smile back on his face.

"The adventure ends here, boys!" he said. "I shall take a
bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too
late to save the girl, and that you two tragically lost your
minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye to
your memories!"

He raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and
yelled, "Obliviate!"

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry
flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the
coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of
tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next
moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of
broken rock.

"Ron!" he shouted. "Are you okay? Ron!"

"I'm here!" came Ron's muffled voice from behind the
rockfall. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got
blasted by the wand ='

*303*

There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded as though
Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

"What now?" Ron's voice said, sounding desperate. "We can't
get through - it'll take ages ......

Harry looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had
appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything
as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn't seem a good
moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another "ow!" from behind the
rocks. They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the
Chamber of Secrets for hours .... Harry knew there was only
one thing to do.

"Wait there," he called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go
on.... If I'm not back in an hour. . .

There was a very pregnant pause,

"I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, who seemed
to be trying to keep his voice steady. "So you can - can get
back through. And, Harry -"

"See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to inject some
confidence into his shaking voice.

And he set off alone past the giant snake skin.

Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks
was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in
Harry's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel
to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. And then, at
last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid
wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their
eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

*304*

Harry approached, his throat very dry. There was no need to
pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked
strangely alive.

He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and
the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

"Open, "said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves
slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to
foot, walked inside.

e was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber.
Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents
rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long,
black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled
the place.

His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the
chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy
corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the
serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off
the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp
them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye
sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More
than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one
stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a
statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing
against the back wall.

*306*



Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face
above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard
that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping
stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the
smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a
small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

"tinny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to
his knees. "tinny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -"
He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and
turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold,
yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then
she must be

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking
her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest
pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges,
as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window.
But there was no mistaking him

"Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately.
"She's not - she's not -?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty
years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining
about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.

* 30 7*

"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for
fifty years.

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes.
Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found
in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered
how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters
to deal with.

"You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Ginny's
head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a
basilisk ... I don't know where it is, but it could be along
any moment .... Please, help me -1)

Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny
half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone.

"Did you see -?"

He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling
Harry's wand between his long fingers.

"Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for it.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued
to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.

"Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with
Ginny's dead weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes
-"

"It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly.

Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her
up any longer.

"What d'you mean?" he said. "Look, give me my wand, I might
need it -"

Riddle's smile broadened.

"You won't be needing it," he said.

*%08*

Harry stared at him.

"What d'you mean, I won't be -?"

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said
Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."

"Look," said Harry, losing patience, "I don't think you get
it. We're in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later -"

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling
broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand.

Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on
here ....

"How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly.

"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle
pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real
reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her
heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry.

"The diary," said Riddle. `My diary. Little Ginny's been
writing in it for months and months, telling me all her
pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how
she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books,
how" -Riddle's eyes glinted "how she didn't think famous,
good, great Harry Potter would ever like her . . . ."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's
face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little
troubles of an eleven- year-old girl," he went on. "But I
was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind.
Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you,
Tom .... I'm so glad I've got this diary to

*309*

confide in .... It's like having a friend I can carry around
in my pocket . . . .

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It
made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm
the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and
her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted .... I grew
stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her
darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than
little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss
Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my
soul back into her. . ."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very
dry.

" Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle
softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She
strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening
messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on
four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat.

"No," Harry whispered.

"Yes," said Riddle, calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what
she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you
could have seen her new diary entries ... far more
interesting, they became .... Dear Tom," he recited,
watching Harry's horrified face, `I think I'm losing my
memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and 1
don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, l can't remember
what 1 did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked
and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps
telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects
me... There was another attack today

*310

and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I
think I'm going mad... I think I'm the one attacking
everyone, Tom!"

Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his
Palms.

"it took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop
trusting her diary," said Riddle. "But she finally became
suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where you
came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more
delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it
was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet . . . ."

"And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was
coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice
steady.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said
Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history. " His eyes roved
over the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and their
expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about
you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show
you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain
your trust -"

"Hagrid's my friend," said Harry, his voice now shaking.
"And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a
mistake, but -"

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

"It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can
imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one
hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so
brave, school prefect, model student ... on the other hand,
big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying
to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the
Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls ... but I

* 31:L *

admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I
thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly
be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years
to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets
and discover the secret entrance ... as though Hagrid had
the brains, or the power!

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to
think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dipper to keep
Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore
might have guessed .... Dumbledore never seemed to like me
as much as the other teachers did ......

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his
teeth gritted.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me
after Hagrid was expelled," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew
it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was
still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long
years Id spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a
diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so
that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in
my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly.
"No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours
the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was
Petrified will be all right again -"

"Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that
killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many
months now, my new target has been -you."

Harry stared at him.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was

*312*

opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw
you with the diary, you see, and panicked. "What if you
found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to
you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling
roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your
dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I
must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of
Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about
you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery
--

particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And
Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you
could speak Parseltongue ....

"So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come
down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very
boring. But there isn't much life left in her .... She put
too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its
pages at last .... I have been waiting for you to appear
since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many
questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched.

"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you
a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed
to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you
escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's
powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly.
"Voldemort was after your time ......

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and
future, Harry Potter . . . ."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it
through the air, writing three shimmering words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name
rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using
at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course.
You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name
forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar
Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the
name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before
I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch?
No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew
wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had
become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at
Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder
Harry's own parents, and so many others .... At last he
forced himself to -,peak.

"You're not," he said, his quiet voice full of hatred.

"Not what?" snapped Riddle.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry,
breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but
the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore.
Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare
try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you
when you were at school and he still frightens you now,
wherever you're hiding these days -"

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a
very ugly look.

*31-4*

"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere
memory of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He
was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing
rather than believing it to be true

Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to
stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder.
It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair
on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was
swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music
reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his
own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its
weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering
golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden
talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It
dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then
landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great
wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden
beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to
Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

	"That's a phoenix 	said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at
it.

	"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden
claws squeeze his shoulder gently

"And that -" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that
Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat -"

So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay
motionless at Harry's feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the
dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were
laughing at once

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and
an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel
safe now?"

Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the
Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited
for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.

"To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly.
"Twice - in your past, in my future - we have met. And twice
I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me
everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the
longer you stay alive."

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had
the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither
of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all
right ... but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life
was dwindling out of Ginny ... and in the meantime, Harry
noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer,
more solid .... If it had to be a fight between him and
Riddle, better sooner than later.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked
me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself But I know
why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me.
My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with
suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen
the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're
barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in
hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -"

*%16*

Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful
smile. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a
powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is nothing
special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are
strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have
noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles.
Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since
the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike ...
but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you
from me. That's all I wanted to know."

Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand.
But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again.

"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's
match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar
Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons
Dumbledore can give him . . . ."

He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then
walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched
Ridthe stop between the high pillars and look up into the
stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the
half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but
Harry understood what he was saying ....

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. "

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes
swaying on his shoulder.

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck,
Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge
black hole.

	And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth.
Something was slithering up from its depths. 3 1

Harry backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as
he shut his eyes tight he felt Fawkes' wing sweep his cheek
as he took flight. Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!"
but what chance did a phoenix have against the king of
serpents?

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry
felt it shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense
it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from
Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:

"Kill him. "

The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its
heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes
still tightly shut, Harry began to run blindly sideways, his
hands outstretched, feeling his way - Voldemort was laughing

Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood
the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it
coming

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him,
and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was
smashed into the wall. Waiting for fangs to sink through his
body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly
off the pillars

He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to
squint at what was going on.

The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an
oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great
blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As
Harry trembled, ready to close his eyes if it turned, he saw
what had distracted the snake.

Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was
snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers

Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a

*318*

sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's
tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry
could shut his eyes, it turned - Harry looked straight into
its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous
yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was
streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.

"NO!" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE
THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM.
KILL HIMI"

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes
was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here
and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its
ruined eyes.

"Help me, help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone - anyone

The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Harry
ducked. Something soft hit his face.

The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms.
Harry seized it. It was all he had left, his only chance -
he rammed it onto his head and threw himself flat onto the
floor as the basilisk's tail swung over him again.

Help me - help me - Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight
under the hat. Please help me

There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted,
as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.

Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of
Harry's head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking in
front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it
off and felt something long and hard beneath it.

3 19

A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its
handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

"KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF
-- SMELL HIM."

Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was
falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it
twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye
sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to
swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin,
glittering, venomous -

It lunged blindly -- Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber
wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's
side. He raised the sword in both his hands -

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true --
Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it
to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth -

But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing
pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was
sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as
the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to
the floor.

Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was
spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his
arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was
spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he
dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his
robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in
a whirl of dull color.

A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter
of claws beside him.

"Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes .
. . ."

1,520

He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where
the serpent's fang had pierced him.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved
in front of him.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him.
"Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's
doing, Potter? He's crying."

Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus. Thick,
pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

"I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take
your time. I'm in no hurry."

Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be
spinning.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant
voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his
friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely
challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother
soon, Harry... She bought you twelve years of borrowed time
... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he
must . . . ."

If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so bad.

Even the pain was leaving him ....

But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber
seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a
little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on
Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around
the wound -- except that there was no wound

"Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away
from him - I said, get away --"

Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at

Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight
again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears. - ." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's
arm. "Of course ... healing powers ... I forgot. . ."

He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In
fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter
... you and me....

He raised the wand

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead
and something fell into Harry's lap -- the diary.

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still
raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without
considering, as though he had meant to do it all along,
Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and
plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out
of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands,
flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting,
screaming and flailing and then

He had gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter
and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip
drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom
had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was
spinning as though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder.
Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat,
and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from
the roof of the basilisk's mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny
was stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her
bemused

1,522

eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over
Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his
hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to
pour down her face.

"Harry -- oh, Harry -- I tried to tell you at b-breakfast,
but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy -- it was me,
Harry -- but I -- I s-swear I d- diddt mean to -- R-Riddle
made me, he t-took me over -- and - how did you kill that --
that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r- remember
is him coming out of the diary --"

" It's all right," said Harry, holding up the diary, and
showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him
and the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here --"

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her
awkwardly to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to
Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave
and -- w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber
entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the
motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing
gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors
close behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant
sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got
her!"

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the
next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable
gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

"Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to
pull

321,3

her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What
happened?" How - what -- where did that bird come from?"

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

"He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, squeezing through himself

"How come you've got a sword?" said Ron, gaping at the
glittering weapon in Harry's hand.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry with a
sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

"But --"

"Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good
idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in
front of Ginny, anyway. "Where's Lockhart?"

"Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking
his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way.
Come and see."

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft
golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to
the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there,
humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired.
Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where
he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's
a danger to himself"

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.

"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you
live here?"

"No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

"Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he
said to Ron.

*324*

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past
Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes
bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail
feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him.

"He looks like he wants you to grab hold. . ." said Ron,
looking perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to
pull up there -"

"Fawkes," said Harry, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned
quickly to the others. "We've got to hold on to each other.
Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart --"

"He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

"You hold Ginny's other hand --"

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt,
Ron took hold of the back of Harry's robes, and Harry
reached out and took hold of Fawkes's strangely hot tail
feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his
whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they
were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear
Lockhart dangling below him, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This
is just like magic!" The chill air was whipping through
Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it
was over -- all four of them were hitting the wet floor of
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his
hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

"You're alive," she said blankly to Harry.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly,
wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

* 325*

"Oh, well ... Id just been thinking ... if you had died,
you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle,
blushing silver.

"Urgh!" said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark,
deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown
fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!"

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face.

"Where now?" said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry
pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor.
They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves
outside Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

G F-I A P T E IR

k' I G 14 T V V N

DO

Y'$ REWARD

or a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and
Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and
(in Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream.

"Ginny!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of
the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr.
Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their
daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore
was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor
McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching
her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry's ear and
settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry found
himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasleys tight
embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor
McGonagall weakly.





Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment,
then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting
Hat, the rubyencrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's
diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a
quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told
them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had
finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the
pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the
forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of
the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning
Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the
Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom ....

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused,
"so you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a
hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add
- but how on earth did you all get out of there alive,
Potter?"

So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this
talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about
the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then he faltered.
He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle's diary -- or Ginny.
She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley's
shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her
cheeks. What if they expelled her? Harry thought in panic.
Riddle's diary didn't work anymore .... How could they prove
it had been he who'd made her do it all?

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled
faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon
spectacles.

"\What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how
Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources
tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of
Albania."

*328*

Relief -- warm, sweeping, glorious relief -- swept over
Harry. "W- what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned
voice. "YouKnow-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not ...
Ginny hasn't been ... has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and
showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was
sixteen . . . ."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down
his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the
most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned
around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called
Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at
Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school ...
traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts,
consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many
dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced
as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone
connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who
was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do
with - with -- him?"

"His d-diaryl" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and
he's been w-writing back all year --"

"tinny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught
you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust
anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it
keeps its brain?  Why didn't you show the diary to me, or
your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly
full of Dark Magic ='

*329*

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of
the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it
in there and forgotten about it --"

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,"
Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a
terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older
and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord
Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed
rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I
always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly
down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still
awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the
basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Ron brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said
Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still
looking deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully
to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good
feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to
the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley,
shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore.
What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them?
Surely - surely - they weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to
expel you if you broke any more school rules, said
Dumbledore.

*%30*

Ron opened his mouth in horror.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat
our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You will both
receive Special Awards for Services to the School and -- let
me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for
Gryffindor."

Ron went as briglitly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers
and closed his mouth again.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his
part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so
modest, Gilderoy?"

Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about
Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a
corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When
Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder
to see who he was talking to.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an
accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart
--"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise.
"Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Ron
explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long
silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword,
Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy
has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the
infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "Id like a few more
words with Harry .....

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at
Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit down, Harry," he said, and Harry sat, feeling
unaccountably nervous.

"First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore,
eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty
down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called
Fawkes to you."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his
knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully.
"I imagine he was most interested in you . . . . "

Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling
out of his mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange
likenesses, he said ......

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at
Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you
think, Harry?"

"I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than
he'd intended. "I mean, I'm -- I'm in Gryffindor, I'm . . ."

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting
Hat told me Id -- Id have done well in Slytherin. Everyone
thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can
speak Parseltongue ....

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly,
"because Lord Voldemort -- who is the last remaining
ancestor

*$32*

of Salazar Slytherin -- can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm
much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you
the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended
to do, I'm sure ....

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said,
thunderstruck.

"It certainly seems so."

"So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking
desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could
see Slytherin's power in me, and it --"

"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to
me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar
Slytherin prized in his hand- picked students. His own very
rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination --
a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache
quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in
Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated
voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin . . . ."

`Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes
you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices,
Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our
abilities." Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. "If
you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I
suggest you look more closely at this."

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk,
picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to
Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in
the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below
the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

*333*

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the
hat, Harry," said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled
open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and
took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you
go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -- we need
our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for
the Daily Prophet, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be
needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear
me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached
for the handle, however, when the door burst open so
violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering
behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the
room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the
hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was
attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently
Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were
his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was
disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around
his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

"So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended
you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

*%$4*

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely,
"the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was
something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell
the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had
been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to
think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange
tales they told me, too .... Several of them seemed to think
that you had threatened to curse their families if they
didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were
still slits of fury.

"So -- have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have
you caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?"said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore.
"But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody
else. By means of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through
the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was
watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed
meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then
at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head
with his fist.

"I see. . . " said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still
staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry
here" --Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look -- "and
his friend Ron hadn't discovered this book, why -- Ginny
Weasley might have taken all

*335*

the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she
hadn't acted of her own free will ......

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened
then .... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent
pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley
and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was
discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns .... Very
fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories
wiped from it. "Who knows what the consequences might have
been otherwise ......

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

"Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the
diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the
head.

And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby
backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary,
Mr. Malfoy?" said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

"How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of
it?" he said.

"Because you gave it to her," said Harry. "In Flourish and
Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and
slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"

He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore,
smiling at Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the
book. On

*336*

the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving
out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any
more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think
Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back
to you ......

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw
his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for
his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf

"We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to
him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby
squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry
stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him -

"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that
diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The
feast, remember ......

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He
could hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the
corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work,
Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy,
filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down
the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got
something for you --"

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand.

")What the --?"

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside,
then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

*',531*

You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these
days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome
fools, too.

He turned to go.

"Come, Dobby. I said, come."

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Harry's disgusting,
slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless
treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment.
"Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"

"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and
Dobby caught it, and Dobby -- Dobby is free. "

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf Then he
lunged at Harry.

"You've lost me my servant, boy!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward.
He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a
crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face
livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long,
threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr.
Malfoy. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go
now."

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at
the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried
out of sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up
at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his
orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry, grinning. "Just
promise never to try and save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy
smile.

"I've just got one question, Dobby," said Harry as Dobby
pulled on Harry's sock with shaking hands. "You told me all
this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,
remember? Well --"

"It was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as
though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark
Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you
see?"

"Right," said Harry weakly. "Well, Id better go. There's a
feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now .....

Dobby threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him.

"Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed.
"Farewell, Harry Potter!"

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one
quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the
celebration lasted all night. Harry didn't know whether the
best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming "You
solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over from the
Hufflepuff table to wring. his hand and apologize endlessly
for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half
past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders
that they
were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron's
four hundred
points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second
year
running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to

*339*

tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school
treat ("Oh,
no!" said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that,
unfortunately,
Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year,
owing to the
fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back.
Quite a few
of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this
news.

"Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He
was
starting to grow on me."

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing
sunshine.
Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small
differences -
Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but
we've
had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a
disgruntled
Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school
governor.
Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he
owned
the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky.
On the other
hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts
Express.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a
compartment to
themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in
which they
were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played
Exploding
Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster
fireworks,
and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was
getting very
good at it.

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered
something.

"Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want
you to tell
anyone?"

*340*

"Oh, that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a
girlfriend." Fred
dropped a stack of books on George's head.

"What?"

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said
Ginny.
"That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been
meeting her
all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing
in an empty
classroom one day. He was so upset when she was -- you know
-
attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added
anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his
birthday
had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned
to Ron
and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling
it twice,
tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I
told your dad
how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call me at
the
Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only
Dudley
to talk to ......

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?"
said
Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd
thronging
toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did
this
year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I
could've
died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious ......

And together they walked back through the gateway to the
Muggle
world. '

*341*

